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HISTORICAL 
MATERIALISM 


A SYSTEM OF SOCIOLOGY 


By NIKOLAI BUKHARIN 


Authorized translation from the third Russian edition 





INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHERS 


vi CONTENTS 


CHAPTER THREE 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM : : 

a. Materialism and Idealism in Bhioeopte, ; the nen & the 
Objective; b. The Materialist Attitude in the Social Sci- 
ences; c. The Dynamic Point of View and the Relation 
between Phenomena; d. The Historical Interpretation of 
the Social Sciences; e. The Use of Contradictions in the 
Historical Process; f. The Theory of Cataclysmic Changes 
and the Theory of Revolutionary Transformations in the 
Social Sciences. 


CHAPTER FouR 


SOCIETY : 
a. Concept of I Napesete: Tones ate Real Ageremarest 
b. Society as a Real Aggregate or a System; c. The Char- 
acter of the Social Relations; d. Society and Personality ; 
Precedence of Society over the Individual; e. Societies in 
Process of Formation. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIETY AND NATURE 
a. Nature as the Environment of Society; b. Relations between 
Society and Nature; The Process of Production and Re- 
production; c. The Productive Forces; The Productive 
Forces as an Indicator of the Relations between Society 
and Nature; d. The Equilibrium between Nature and 
Society; its Disturbances and Readjustments ; e. The Pro- 
ductive Forces as the Point of Departure in Sociological 

Analysis. 


CHAPTER SIX 


THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN THE ELEMENTS OF 
SOCIETY : ; 
a. Connection between the Varere Shalt PHENO renee Roni 
lation of the Question; b. Things, Persons, Ideas; c. 

Social Technology and the Economic Structure of Society ; 

d. The Outlines of the Superstructure; e. Social Psychology 


PAGE 


53 


84 


104 


130 


CONTENTS 


and Social Ideology; f. The Ideological Processes con- 
sidered as Differentiated Labor; g. The Significance of 
the Superstructures; h. The Formative Principles of 
Social Life; i. Types of Economic Structure; Types 
of Various Societies; j. The Contradictory Character of 
Evolution; External and Internal Equilibrium of Society. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT OF SOCIAL 
EQUILIBRIUM 
a. The Process of Social Granees al the Pondtecnes parece 


b. The Productive Forces and the Social-Economic Struc- 
ture; c. The Revolution and its Phases; d. Cause and 
Effect in the Transition Period; Cause and Effect in 
Periods of Decline; e. The Evolution of the Productive 
Forces and the Materialization of Social Phenomena 
(Accumulation of Civilization) ; {. The Process of Repro- 
duction of Social Life as a Whole. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


THE CLASSES AND THE CLASS STRUGGLE 
a. Class, Caste, Vocation; b. Class Interest; c. Class Barchole 


INDEX 


ogy and Class Ideology; d. The “Class in itself” and the 
“Class for itself’; e. Forms of a Relative Solidarity of 
Interests; f. Class Struggle and Class Peace; g. The Class 
Struggle and the State Power; h. Class, Party, Leaders; 
i. The Classes as an Instrument of Social Transforma- 
tion; j. The Classless Society of the Future. 


Vil 
PAGE 


242 


276 


313 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2022 with funding from 
Princeton Theological Seminary Library 


httos://archive.org/details/historicalmateri0Obukh 


INTRODUCTION 


THE PRACTICAL IMPORTANCE OF THE SOCIAL 
SCIENCES 


a. The Social Sciences and the Demands of the Struggle of the 
Working Class 


Bourceors scholars speak of any branch of learning with mys- 
terious awe, as if it were a thing produced in heaven, not on earth. 
But as a matter of fact any science, whatever it be, grows out 
of the demands of society or its classes. No one takes the trouble 
to count the number of flies on a window-pane, or the number 
of sparrows in the street, but one does count the number of horned 
cattle. The former figures are useful to no one; it is very useful 
to know the latter. But it is not only useful to have a knowledge of 
nature, from whose various parts we obtain all our substances, 
instruments, raw materials, etc.; it is just as necessary, in prac- 
tice, to have information concerning society. The working class, 
at each step in its struggle, is brought face to face with the neces- 
sity of possessing such information. In order to be able to con- 
duct its struggle with other classes properly, it is necessary for 
the working class to foresee how these classes will behave. For 
this it must know on what circumstances the conduct of the 
various classes, under varying conditions, depends. Before the 
working class obtains power, it is obliged to live under the yoke 
of capital and to bear in mind constantly, in its struggle for libera- 
tion, what will be the behavior of all the given classes. It must 
know on what this behavior depends, and by what such behavior is 
determined. This question may be answered only by social science. 
If the working class has conquered power, it is under the necessity 
of struggling against the capitalist governments of other countries, 
as well as against the remnants of counter-revolution at home; and 
it is also obliged to reckon with the extremely difficult tasks of the 
organization of production and distribution. What is to be the 
nature of the economic plan; how is the intelligentsia to be utilized ; 
how are the peasantry and the petty bourgeoisie to be trained to 
communism; how shall experienced administrators be raised from 

ix 


x INTRODUCTION 


the ranks of the workers; how shall the broad masses of the 
working class itself, as yet only slightly class-conscious, be 
reached; etc., etc.,—all these questions require a knowledge of 
society in order to answer them properly, a knowledge of its 
classes, of their peculiarities, of their behavior in this case or that; 
they require a knowledge also of political economy and the social 
currents of thought of the various groups in society. These ques- 
tions show the need for the social sciences. The practical task of 
a reconstruction of society may be correctly solved by the applica- 
tion of a scientific policy of the working class, 7.e., a policy based on 
scientific theory ; this scientific theory, in the case of the proletarian, 
is the theory founded by Karl Marx. 


b. The Bourgeoisie and the Social Sciences 


The bourgeoisie also has created its own social sciences, based 
on its own practical requirements. _ 

When the bourgeoisie is the ruling class, it must solve a great 
number of questions: how to maintain the capitalist order of 
things; how to secure the so called “normal development” of 
capitalist society, which means a regular influx of profits; how to 
organize for this purpose its economic institutions; how to conduct 
its policy with regard to other countries; how to maintain its rule 
over the working class; how to eliminate disagreements in its own 
ranks ; how to train its staffs of officials: priests, police, scholars; 
how to carry on the business of instruction so that the working 
class may not become savage and destroy the machinery, but aie 
continue to be obedient to its oppressors, etc. 

For this purpose the bourgeoisie needs the social sciences; these 
sciences aid it in its adaptation to the complicated social life and 
in choosing a proper course in the solution of the practical problems 
of life. It is interesting, for example, to note that the first 
bourgeois economists were great practical merchants and govern- 
ment leaders, while the greatest theoretician of the bourgeoisie, 
Ricardo, was a very able banker. 


c. The Class Character of the Social Sciences 


Bourgeois scholars always maintain that they are the representa- 
tives of so called “pure science”, that all earthly sufferings, all 
conflicting interests, all the ups and downs of life, the hunt for 
profit, and other earthly and vulgar things have no relation what- 


INTRODUCTION xi 


ever with their science. Their conception of the matter is ap- 
proximately the following: the scholar is a god, seated on a sublime 
eminence, observing dispassionately the life of society in all its 
varying forms; they think (and yet more loudly proclaim) that vile 
“practice” has no relation whatever with pure “theory”. This 
conception is of course a false one; quite the contrary is true: all 
learning arises from practice. This being the case, it is perfectly 
clear that the social sciences have a class character. Each class 
has its own practice, its special tasks, its interests and therefore 
its view of things. The bourgeoisie is concerned chiefly with safe- 
guarding, perpetuating, solidifying, extending the rule of capital. 
The working class is concerned in the first place with the task 
of overthrowing the capitalist system and safeguarding the rule of 
the working class in order to reconstruct life. It is not difficult to 
see that bourgeois practice will demand one thing, and proletarian 
practice another ; that the bourgeoisie will have one view of things, 
and the working class another; that the social science of the bour- 
geoisie will be of one type, and that of the proletariat unquestion- 
ably of a different type. 


d. Why ts Proletarian Science Superior to Bourgeois Science? 


This is the question we have now to answer. If the social 
sciences have a class character, in what way is proletarian science 
superior to bourgeois science, for the working class also has its 
interests, its aspirations, its practice, while the bourgeoisie has a 
practice of its own. Both classes must be considered as interested 
parties. It is not sufficient to say that one class is good, high- 
minded, concerned with the welfare of humanity, while the other 
is greedy, eager for profits, etc. One of these two classes has one 
kind of eye-glasses, red ones, the other class has a different kind, 
white ones, Why are red glasses better than white ones? Why is 
it better to look at reality through red ones? Why is there superior 
visibility through red ones? 

We must approach the answer to this intaaiis rather carefully. 

We have seen that the bourgeoisie is interested in preserving the 
capitalist system. Yet it is a well-known fact that there is nothing 
permanent under the sun. There was a slavery system; there was 
a feudal system; there was, and still is, the capitalist system; there 
also have been other forms of human society. It is evident—and 


xii INTRODUCTION 


incontrovertibly so—that we must infer the following: he who 
would understand social life on its present basis must also under- 
stand, at the outset, that all is changing, that one form of society 
follows upon another. Let us picture to ourselves, for example, 
the feudal serf-owner, who lived in the period before the liberation 
of the peasants from serfdom. Such a man in many cases could 
not even imagine that there might exist an order of society in which 
it would be impossible to sell peasants or exchange them for grey- 
hounds. Could such a serf-owner really understand the evolution 
of society correctly? Of course not. Why not? For the reason 
that his eyes were covered not by glasses, but with blinders. He 
could not see further than his nose, and therefore was unable to 
understand even the things going on right under his nose. 

The bourgeoisie also wears such blinders. The bourgeoisie is 
interested in the preservation of capitalism and believes in its 
permanence and indestructibility. It is therefore blind to such 
phenomena and such traits in the evolution of capitalist society as 
point to its temporary nature, to its approaching ruin (even to 
the possibility of its destruction), to its being succeeded by any 
other organization of life. This is made most clear by the example 
of the World War and the revolution. Did any one of the more or 
less prominent bourgeois scholars foresee the consequences of the 
world slaughter? Not one! Did any one of them foresee the out- 
break of revolution? Not one! They were all busily occupied 
in supporting their bourgeois governments and predicting victory » 
for the capitalists of their own country. And yet, these phenomena, 
namely, the general destruction by warfare, and the unprecedented 
revolution of the proletariat, are deciding the destinies of man- 
kind, are changing the face of the entire earth. But of all this, 
bourgeois science had not a single premonition. But the com- 
munists—the representatives of proletarian science—did foresee 
all this. The difference is due to the fact that the proletariat is 
not interested in the preservation of the old and is therefore more 
farsighted. 

It is not difficult to understand now why proletarian social 
science is superior to bourgeois social science. It is superior be- 
cause it has a deeper and wider vision of the phenomena of social 
life, because it is capable of seeing further and of observing facts 
that lie beyond the vision of bourgeois social science. It is there- 
fore clear that Marxists have a perfect right to regard proletarian 
science as true and to demand that it be generally recognized. 


INTRODUCTION xiii 


e. The Various Social Sciences and Sociology 


Human society is a very complicated thing; in fact, all social 
phenomena are quite complicated and varied. We have for in- 
stance the economic phenomena, the economic structure of society 
and its national organization; and the fields of morality, religion, 
art, learning, philosophy; and the domain of family relations, etc. 
These are often interwoven into very peculiar patterns, constituting 
the current of social life. It is of course clear that for an under- 
standing of this complicated social life it is necessary to approach 
it from various starting points, to divide science into a group of 
sciences. One will study the economic life of society (science of 
economics) or even the special universal laws of capitalist economy 
(political economy) ; another will study law and the state and will 
go into special matters of detail; a third will study—let us say— 
morality, etc. 

And each of these branches of learning, in its turn, can be 
divided into two classes: one group of these sciences will investigate 
the past, a certain time in a certain place—this is historical science. 
For example, in the field of law: it is possible to investigate, and to 
describe precisely, how law and the state have developed, and how 
their forms have changed. This will be the history of law. But 
it is also possible to investigate and solve certain questions: what 
is law; under what conditions does it grow, or die out; on what do 
its forms depend; etc. This will be the theory of law. Such 
branches of learning are the theoretical branches. 

Among the social sciences there are two important branches 
which consider not only a single field of social life, but the entire 
social life in all its fulness; in other words, they are concerned not 
with any single set of phenomena (such as, economic, or legal, or 
religious phenomena, etc.), but take up the entire life of society, 
as a whole, concerning themselves with all the groups of social 
phenomena. One of these sciences is history; the other is sociology. 
In view of what has been said above it will not be difficult to grasp 
the difference between them. History investigates and describes 
how the current of social life flowed at a certain time and in a cer- 
tain place (for example, how economy and law and morality and 
science, and a great number of other things, developed in Russia, 
beginning in 1700 and going down to 1800; or, in China, from 
2000 B.C. to 1000 A.D.; or, in Germany, after the Franco-Prussian 
War in 1871; or in any other epoch and in any other country or 


LER PS 


XIV INTRODUCTION 


group of countries). Sociology takes up the answer to general 
questions, such as: what is society? On what does its growth or 
decay depend? What is the relation of the various groups of social 
phenomena (economic, legal, scientific, etc.), with each other ; how 
is their evolution to be explained; what are the historical forms of 
society; how shall we explain the fact that one such form follows 
upon another; etc., etc.? Sociology is the most general (abstract) 
of the social sciences. It is often referred to under other names, 
such as: “the philosophy of history’, “the theory of the historical 
process’, etc. 

It is evident from the above what relation exists between history 
and sociology. Since sociology explains the general laws of human 
evolution, it serves as a method for history. If, for example, 
sociology establishes the general doctrine that the forms of gov- 
ernment depend on the forms of economy, the historian must seek 
and find, in any given epoch, precisely what are the relations, and 
must show what is their concrete, specific expression. History 
furnishes the material for drawing sociological conclusions and 
making sociological generalizations, for these conclusions are not 
made up of whole cloth, but are derived from the actual facts of 
history. Sociology in its turn formulates a definite point of view, 
a means of investigation, or, as we now say, a method for history. 


f. The Theory of Historical Materialism as a Marxian Sociology 


The working class has its own proletarian sociology, known as 
historical materialism. In its main outlines this theory was 
elaborated by Marx and Engels. It is also called “the materialist 
method in history”, or simply “economic materialism’. This pro- 
found and brilliant theory is the most powerful instrument of 
human thought and understanding. With its aid, the proletariat 
finds its bearings in the most complicated questions in social life 
and in the ciass struggle. With its aid, communists correctly pre- 
dicted the war and the revolution and the dictatorship of the pro- 
letariat, as well as the conduct of the various parties, groups, and 
classes in the great transformation through which humanity is now 
passing. This book is devoted to expounding and developing this 
theory. 


Some persons imagine that the theory of historical materialism 
should under no circumstances be considered a Marxian sociology, 
and that it should not be expounded systematically; they believe that 


INTRODUCTION xv 


it is only a living method of historical knowledge, that its truths may 
only be applied in the case of concrete and historical events. In addi- 
tion, there is the argument that the conception of sociology itself is 
rather vague, that “sociology” signifies sometimes the science of primi- 
tive culture and the origin of the primitive forms of the human com- 
munity (for instance, the family), and at other times extremely vague 
observations on the most varied social phenomena “in general”, and at 
still other times, an uncritical comparison of society with an organism 
(the organic, biological school of sociology), etc. 

All such arguments are in error. In the first place, the confusion 
prevailing in the bourgeois camp should not induce us to create still 
more confusion in our ranks. For the theory of historical materialism 
has a definite place, it is not political economy, nor is it history; it is 
the general theory of society and the laws of its evolution, 1.e., sociol- 
ogy. In the second place, the fact that the theory of historical ma- 
terialism is a method of history, by no means destroys its significance 
as a sociological theory. Very often a more abstract science may fur- 
nish a point of view (method) for the less abstract sciences. ‘This is 
the case here also, as the matter in large type has shown. 


EXPLANATORY NOTE: Following the author's plan in the Russian 
edition, the material in this book is printed in two different sizes of 
type. The general discussion covering the entire field appears in 
larger type, and may be read without reference to the matter in 
smaller type. More detailed elucidations of certain subjects includ- 
ing additional references are printed in smaller type for the use of 
the advanced student and reader. 





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HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


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HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


PACA U SE AND DURPOSETING PHETSOCIAL SCIENCES 
(CAUSATION AND TELEOLOGY) 


a. The Uniformity of Phenomena in General and of Social 
Phenomena in Particular 


Ir we regard the phenomena of nature which surround us, as 
well as those of social life, we shall observe that these phenomena 
by no means constitute a confused mass in which nothing may 
be distinguished or understood or predicted. On the other hand, 
we may everywhere ascertain, by attentive observation, a certain 
regularity in these phenomena. Night is followed by day; and, 
just as inevitably, day is followed by night. The seasons regularly 
follow one upon the other, accompanied by a great number of con- 
comitant phenomena, repeating themselves year after year; the 
trees put forth their leaves and shed them; various kinds of birds 
of passage fly into our country and out again; men sow or reap; 
etc. Whenever a warm rain falls, mushrooms grow up in pro- 
fusion, and we even have a saying, “to grow like mushrooms after 
arain.” <A grain of rye, falling upon the ground, will strike root 
and the plant under certain circumstances will ultimately produce 
an ear of grain. But we have never observed that any such ear 
grew—let us say—out of frogs’ eggs or from bits of sandstone. 
Everything in nature, therefore, from the movements of the planets 
down to the little grain or mushroom, is subject to a certain uni- 
formity or, as it is generally put, to a certain natural law. 

We observe the same condition in social life also, i.¢., in the life 
of human society. However complicated and varied this society 
may be, we nevertheless observe and discover in it a certain natural 
law. For example, wherever capitalism develops (in America or 
in Japan, in Africa or in Australia), the working class also grows 
and expands, likewise the socialist movement; the theory of 
Marxism is spread. Together with the growth of production there 
is a growth in “mental culture”: in the number of persons able to 
read and write, for example. In capitalist society, crises arise at 

19 | 


20 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


definite intervals of time, which follow upon industrial booms in as 
precise a succession as the succession of day and night. The 
bringing out of any great invention which revolutionizes technology 
also speedily alters the entire social life. Or, let us take another 
example; let us count the number of persons born every year in 
a certain country: we shall see that in the following year the in- 
crease in the population by percentage will be approximately the 
same. Let us calculate the quantity of beer consumed each year in 
Bavaria; we shall find that this quantity is more or less constant, 
increasing with the increase in population. If there were no 
uniformity, no natural law, it is of course clear that nothing could 
be predicted, nothing could be done. Day might follow upon night 
today, and then there might be daylight for a whole year. This 
year, snow might fall in winter, while next winter oranges might 
grow. In England, the working class might grow up by the side 
of capitalism, while in Japan the number of landowners might per- 
haps increase. Now we bake bread in an oven, but then—why 
not ?—perhaps loaves of bread will grow on pine-trees instead of 
cones. 

As a matter of fact, however, no one has any such thoughts, 
every one well knows that loaves of bread will not grow on pine- 
trees. Every one has observed that in nature and society there is a 
defimite regularity, a fixed natural law. The determination of this 
natural law is the first task of science. 


This causality in nature and society is objective; it exists whether 
men are aware of it or not. The first step of science is to reveal this 
causality and free it from the surrounding chaos of phenomena. Marx 
considered the earmark of scientific knowledge to be its character as 
“a sum of many determinations and relations”, as opposed to a “chaotic 
conception”. (Introduction to A Critique of Political Economy, Chi- 
cago, 1913.) This character of science of “systematizing”, “coordi- 
nating’, “organizing”, etc., is recognized by all. Thus, Mach (in 
Erkenntnis und Irrtum) defines the process of scientific thinking as 
an adaptation of thoughts to facts and of thoughts to thoughts. Karl 
Pearson, an English professor, writes: “Not the facts themselves 
constitute science, but the method of elaborating them.” The orig- 
inal method of science is the “classification” of facts, which does not 
mean a mere collection of facts, but their “systematic connection”. 
(Karl Pearson, Grammar of Science, London, 1892, p. 15 and 92.) 
Yet, the great majority of present-day bourgeois philosophers find the 
function of science to be not the discovery of those causalities that 
exist objectively, but the invention of such causalities by the 
human person. But it is clear that the succession of day and night, of 
the seasons, the uniform sequence of natural and social phenomena, are 
independent of whether the mind of the learned bourgeois will have it 
so or not. The causality of phenomena is an objective causality. 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 21 


b. The Nature of Causation, Formulation of the Question 


If uniformity, as stated above, may’ be observed in the 
phenomena of nature and society, we may well ask what is this 
uniformity? When we examine the mechanism of a watch and 
note its precise operation, when we observe how beautifully the 
little wheels have been adjusted one with regard to the other, each 
tooth meshing with another, we are fully aware why the mechanism 
works as it does. Watches are made on a definite plan; this instru- 
ment has been constructed for a definite end; each screw has been 
put in its place precisely for the attainment of this end. Similarly, 
in the great universe, the planets move regularly and smoothly in 
their courses ; nature wisely preserves the specially developed forms 
of life. We have only to regard the construction of the eye of any 
animal in order to observe at once how cunningly and skilfully, with 
what practical planfulness this eye has been constructed. And 
everything in nature seems informed with a plan: the mole, living 
under the surface of the ground, has little blind eyes, but very 
excellent hearing; while the deep-sea fish against whose body the 
weight of the water is pressing, resists this pressure by an equal 
pressure from within (if taken out of the water, the fish will 
burst), etc. And how is it in human society? Does not humanity 
propose a great goal for itself; namely, communism? Does not 
the entire evolution of history move toward this great goal? There- 
fore, if everything in nature and in society has an object, which 
may not in every case be known to us, but which consists in an 
eternal process of perfection, should we not consider all things 
from the point of view of these goals? In this case, the natural 
law condition of which we have spoken will appear to be a condi- 
tion of purposeful natural law (or of teleological natural law; 
from the Greek telos, “goal”, “purpose”’). This is one of two 
possibilities, one of the ways in which the question as to the char- 
acter of natural law may be formulated. 

Another formulation of the question starts with the fact that 
every phenomenon has its cause. Humanity moves toward com- 
munism for the reason that the proletariat has grown up within 
capitalist society and this proletariat cannot be accommodated in 
the framework of this society: the mole has poor sight and ex- 
cellent hearing because in the course of thousands of years the 
natural circumstances have been exerting their influence on these 
animals, and the changes called forth by these circumstances have 


22 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


been handed down to their offspring; those animals which were 
more adapted to these circumstances finding it easier to continue 
to live, to reproduce and to multiply, than those less adapted to 
the changes. Day is followed by night, and vice-versa, because the 
earth revolves about its axis and turns to the sun now one side and 
now the other. In all these cases we do not ask for the purpose 
(“for what end?’’), but we ask for the cause (“why?”). This is 
the causal (from Latin causa, “cause’’) formulation of the ques- 
tion. The natural law of phenomena is here represented as a law 
of cause and effect. 

Such is the nature of the conflict between causality and teleology. 
We must dispose of this conflict at once. 


c. Teleology and Objections to Teleology, Immanent Teleology 


If we consider teleology as a general principle, 1.e., if we closely 
examine this view, according to which everything in the world is 
subject to certain purposes, it will not be difficult to grasp its com- 
plete absurdity. After all, what is a goal? The conception of a 
goal presupposes the conception of some one who sets this goal 
as a goal, 1.e., who sets it consciously. There is no such thing as 
a purpose apart from him who conceives the purpose. A stone 
does not set any goals for itself, any more than does the sun, or 
any of the planets, or the entire solar system, or the Milky Way. 
A purpose is an idea which can be associated only with conscious 
living creatures, having desires, representing these desires to them- 
selves as goals, and aspiring to the realization of these desires (in 
other words, to “approach” a certain “goal’’). Only a savage may 
ask the purpose pursued by a stone lying by the wayside. The 
savage imputes a soul to nature and to the stone. Therefore, 
“teleology” is dominant in his mind, and the stone acts in the 
manner of a conscious human being. The advocates of teleology 
are similar to this savage, for in their minds the entire world has 
a purpose, this purpose having been set by some unknown being. 
It is clear from the above that the conception of purpose, of plan- 
fulness, etc., is absolutely inapplicable to the world as a whole, and 
that the natural law of phenomena ts not a teleological natural law. 


It is not difficult to trace the roots of the conflict between the adher- 
ents of teleology and those of causality. Ever since human society has 
been divided into groups, some of which (the minority) rule, command, 
control, while the others are ruled, and obey them, men have been 
disposed to measure the entire world by this standard. As the earth 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 23 


holds kings, judges, rulers, etc., who make laws, pronounce judgments, 
impose punishments, so the universe has a celestial king, a celestial 
judge, his heavenly host, generals (arch-strategists). The universe 
has been conceived as a product of the creative will which—appro- 
priately enough—gives serious attention to fixing the goals it has in 
mind, its “divine plan”. The causality in phenomena has been taken 
to be an expression of this divine will. Aristotle went so far as to say: 
“Nature is the goal” (1) 6€ gvos rédos éorwv), Greek nomos (vépos, 
“law” ) meant both a “natural law” and a “moral law” (commandment, 
standard of conduct), as well as order, planfulness, harmony. 

As the omnipotence of the emperors was extended, the jurisprudence 
of ancient Rome also was transformed into a worldly study of divinity. 
Its further development proceeded hand in hand with dogmatic theology. 
Law now simply meant a standard (rule of conduct—N.B.), emanating 
from the supreme power—the celestial imperator, in theology; the 
terrestrial God, in jurisprudence—and prescribing a certain conduct 
for its creatures. (E. Spektorsky: Sketches on the Philosophy of the 
Social Sciences, Series I, The Social Sciences and Theoretical Philos- 
ophy, in Russian, Warsaw, 1907, p. 158.) The system of causalities 
in nature began to be regarded as a system of divine legislation. The 
famous Kepler thought the corporeal universe had its pandects (Em- 
peror Justinian’s codes of law were called pandects). Such conceptions 
are also found at later periods, for instance, the French physiocrats 
in the Eighteenth Century furnished the first masterful outline of 
capitalist society and confused the causality of natural and social 
phenomena with the laws of the state and the decrees of the divine 
powers. Thus, Francois Quesnay writes: “The fundamental social 
laws are the laws of the natural order, which are most advantageous 
for the human race. . . . These laws were fixed by the creator for all 
time. Obedience to these... (1.e., ‘divine’, ‘immutable’—WN. B.) laws 
must be maintained by the tutelary authority (autorité tutélaire).” 
(F. Quesnay: Despotisme de la Chine, chap. viii, par. 1, 2, CEuvres, 
Francfort, 1888, p. 637). Obviously, the laws of the tutelary authority 
(1.e., the bourgeois policeman) are here skilfully made to depend on 
the “divine creator” for the support of whom they were created. 

‘Numerous other examples might be adduced, all going to show the 
same thing, namely, that the teleological standpoint is based on religion. 
In its origin, this standpoint is a crude and barbarous transfer of the 
earthly relations of slavery and submission, on the one hand, and 
domination on the other, to the universe as a whole. It fundamentally 
contradicts a scientific explanation, and is based on faith alone. No 
matter what fragrant sauce may be served with it, it remains a priestly 
point of view. 





But how shall we then explain a number of phenomena in which 
the “purpose” is obvious to the naked eye (the “planfulness” of 
the construction of certain organs, social progress, the perfection 
of animal forms, of the human form, etc.) ? If we assume a crudely 
teleological point of view and invoke God Almighty and his “plan”, 
the folly of this “explanation” will become at once apparent. 
Therefore, the teleological point of view assumes a more attenuated 
form in certain persons—the form of the doctrine of the so called 


24 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


“immanent teleology” (a purposefulness inherent in the phenomena 
of nature and society). 


Before investigating this question, it is worth while to devote a few 
words to religious explanations. An intelligent bourgeois economist, 
Bohm-Bawerk, gives the following example. Let us assume, he says, 
that I have set up a theory to explain the universe, according to which 
it consists of a countless number of little devils, whose writhings and 
contortions produce all the phenomena in nature. These little devils, 
I add, are invisible and inaudible, may not be detected by the sense of 
smell nor seized by their tails. I defy anyone to refute this “theory”. 
It cannot be refuted outright, for I have fortified it by assuming the 
invisibility and intangibility of these little devils; yet everyone will 
recognize that it is humbug, for the simple reason that there is no 
proof of the correctness of such a conception. 

Of like nature are all the religious pseudo-explanations. They are 
intrenched behind the intangibility of mysterious powers, or the essen- 
tial insufficiency of our reason. A father of the Church has set up the 
following principle: “I believe, because it is absurd” (Credo quia 
absurdum). According to the Christian ductrine, God is one, but also 
three, which contradicts the rudiments of the multiplication table. But 
it is declared that “our weak reason cannot comprehend this mystery.” 
Obviously, the most ridiculous absurdities can be covered by such 
considerations. 


This doctrine rejects the idea of a mysterious power, in the crude 
sense of the word. It speaks only of goals which are constantly 
being revealed by the course of events, of goals inherent in the very 
process of evolution. Let us clarify this conception by means of an 
example. Let us consider a certain type of animal. In the course 
of time, this type, by reason of a number of causes, alters and 
adapts itself to nature more and more. Its organs are constantly 
being perfected, 7.¢., they are progressing. Or, let us consider 
human society. No matter how we imagine the future of this 
society to be (whether this future will be socialism, or any other 
form of society), is it not apparent that the human type is grow- 
ing, that man is becoming more “cultivated”, that he is “perfecting 
himself”, and that we, the lords of creation, are advancing on the 
road of civilization and progress? Precisely as the structure of the 
animal is becoming better adapted to its purpose, so also is society 
becoming more perfected in its structure, 1.e., more adapted to plan. 
Here the goal (perfection) is revealed in the course of evolution. 
It is not designed in advance by divinity, but blows forth like the 
rose from its blossom, simultaneously with the development of this 
blossom into the rose, by virtue of certain causes. 

Is this theory a correct one? No, it is not. It is merely a dis- 
guised and attenuated form of the teleological fallacy. 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 25 


First, we must oppose the conception of a goal that is set by no 
one. This would be equivalent to speaking of thoughts without 
assuming a thinking means, or to speaking of wind in a region in 
which there is no air, or of moisture in a place where there is no 
fluid. Asa matter of fact, when people speak of purposes that are 
“inherent” in something, they are often simultaneously and tacitly 
assuming the existence of an extremely delicate and inscrutable 
internal force, to which the setting of the purpose must be assigned. 
This mysterious force has on the surface but little similarity with 
the god who is crudely represented as a gray-haired old man with 
a beard and mustaches; but at bottom the god is again invisibly 
present, completely enveloped, however, by the most ingenious 
instruments of thought. We are again dealing with the sarne 
teleological theory which we discussed above. Teleology (the 
doctrine of purpose) leads straight into Theology (the doctrine of 
God). 

But let us return now to immanent teleology in its pure form. 
For this purpose it is best to discuss the idea of a general progress 
(a general perfection), on which the advocates of immanent tele- 
ology chiefly lean for their support. 

Every one will recognize that it is more difficult to overthrow 
the teleological point of view in this case, for the “divine” element 
is here hidden in the background, as it were. However, it is not 
difficult to ascertain the facts of the case if we regard the entire 
process of evolution as a whole, 7.e., if we consider not only those 
forms and types (animals, plants, peoples, inorganic portions of 
nature), which have survived, but also those which have been 
destroyed, and those which are being destroyed. Is it true that 
this much vaunted progress is being accomplished in the case of 
all the forms? It is not true. There were once mammoths, now 
there are none; within our own memories the buffalo has died out; 
and, in general, we may say that an endless multitude of living 
types of all kinds have perished forever. With human groups, the 
case is the same; where are now the Incas and the Aztecs, who once 
lived in America? Where is the Assyro-Babylonian system of 
society? the Cretan civilization? the ancient Greek? Where is 
ancient Rome, ruler of the world? All these societies have 
perished ; their existence is a thing of the past. But a few of the 
countless multitude have survived and “perfected” themselves. 
“Progress” then simply means that—let us say—against ten 
thousand combinations, which were unfavorable for development, 


26 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


we have one or two combinations that were favorable to develop- 
ment. 

If we bear in mind only the favorable conditions and the favor- 
able results, everything will of course impress us as being highly 
planful and marvelous (“How wondrously this world is made!”). 
But our friends the immanent teleologists do not look on the reverse 
side of the coin; they do not consider the countless instances of 
destruction. The whole matter reduces itself to the fact that there 
are conditions that are favorable and others that are unfavorable 
for survival, that under favorable conditions we obtain also favor- 
able results, while under unfavorable conditions (which is much 
more frequently the case) we have unfavorable results; the whole 
picture at once loses its divinely planful halo, and the teleological 
fallacy falls of its own weight. 


One of the Russian teleologists, once a Marxist, later an orthodox 
priest and preacher of pogroms under General Wrangel (Sergey 
Bulgakov) writes, in the volume of collected essays called Problems 
of Idealism (in Russian, Moscow, 1902, pp. 8, 9): “By the side of the 
conception of evolution, as a colossal and directionless evolution (our 
italics;—V.B.), there arises the conception of progress, of teleological 
evolution, in which causality and the gradual unfolding of the goal of 
this evolution overlap to the point of complete identity, precisely as 
in metaphysical systems.” This clearly shows us the psychological 
roots of the seeking after a Weltanschauung that shows purpose. The 
soul of the discontented bourgeois, feeling insecure, longs for con- 
solation. The course of evolution actually operative displeases him 
because it is not guided by a saving reason, a goal of deliverance. It is 
so much more pleasant to take a nap after a good meal, and to know 
that there is one who watches over us. 

It is unnecessary to point out that the apparently teleological ele- 
ments in the formulations of Marx and Engels are to be understood 
merely as a metaphoric, esthetic mode of expression; when Marx 
speaks of value as congealed muscle, nerves, etc., only malicious op- 
ponents of the workers, like P. Struve, will take this figure of speech 
literally, and look for real muscles. 


d. Teleology in the Social Sciences 


When we speak of the teleological point of view in its application 
to inanimate nature, or to animals aside from man, the incorrect- 
ness and folly of this point of view are evident. How can there 
be a purposeful law of nature, when there is no purpose! But 
the matter is quite different when we speak of society and of human 
beings. The stone sets no goal for itself; the giraffe is doubtful 
on this point; but man differs from the other portions of nature 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 27 


precisely by virtue of the fact that he does pursue definite purposes. 
Marx formulates this difference as follows: “A spider conducts 
operations that resemble those of a weaver, and a bee puts to shame 
many an architect in the construction of her cells. But what dis- 
tinguishes the worst architect from the best of bees is this, that 
the architect raises his structure in imagination before he erects 
it in reality. At the end of every labor-process, we get a result 
that already existed in the imagination of the laborer at its com- 
mencement. He not only effects a change of form in the material 
on which he works, but he also realizes a purpose of his own that 
gives the law to his modus operandi, and to which he must sub- 
ordinate his will. And this subordination is no mere momentary 
act. Besides the exertion of the bodily organs, the process de- 
mands that, during the whole operation, the workman’s will be 
steadily in consonance with his purpose. This means close at- 
tention.” + Marx here draws a sharp line between man and the 
rest of nature, and he is right in doing this, for no one can deny 
the thesis that man sets himself goals. Let us see what are the 
inferences drawn from this fact by the adherents of the “‘teleo- 
logical method” in social science. 

For this purpose let us consider the views of our most prominent 
opponent, the German scholar Rudolf Stammler, who some time 
ago published a large book in opposition to Marxism under the 
title : “Economics and Law from the Standpoint of the Materialistic 
Interpretation of History” (Wirtschaft und Recht nach der ma- 
terialistischen Geschichtsauffassung, second edition). 

What, asks Stammler, is the substance of the social sciences? 
He answers: The social sciences concern themselves with social 
phenomena. And social phenomena are distinguished by certain 
peculiarities which are not present in phenomena of any other kind. 
For this reason special (social) sciences are necessary. Now, what 
is the special characteristic, the special token, of social phenomena ? 
Stammler answers as follows: the earmark of the social phe- 
nomenon is in the fact that it is regulated from an external stand- 
point, or, more definitely, by the norms of law (laws, decrees, 
ordinances, regulations, etc.). Where there is no such regulation, 
no practice of law, there is no society. But where there is a society, 
this means that the life of such a society is conducted within a cer- 
tain framework, and adapts itself to this framework as molten 
metal adapts itself to the mould. 

1 Capital, Chicago, 1915, vol. I, p. 198. 


28 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Stammler’s precise words are: “This (determining —N. B.) factor 
is the regulation by men of their intercourse and their life together. 
The external regulation of human conduct in mutual relations is the 
necessary prerequisite of a social life as a specific goal. It is the 
ultimate factor, to which all social thought must formally be traced. 
back in its peculiarities as such” (p. 83). 

But if it is the distinguishing characteristic of social phenomena 
that they are subject to regulation, says Stammler, it is perfectly 
clear that the law of nature in social life is a purposeful law of 
nature. As a matter of fact, who “regulates”, and what is the 
meaning of “regulation”? Men regulate, by creating definite norms 
(rules of conduct) for the attainment of definite purposes, which 
are also consciously formulated by men. It follows, according to 
Stammler, that there is a tremendous difference between nature and 
society, between social evolution and evolution in nature (social 
life, according to Stammler, is something that is directly “opposed 
to nature”),? and consequently also between the natural sciences 
(Naturwissenschaften) and the sciences concerned with society. 
The social sciences are sciences with a purpose (Zweckwuissen- 
schaften) ; the natural sciences consider all things from the stand- 
point of cause and effect. 

Is this point of view a correct one? Is it true that there are 
two kinds of sciences, some of which are as remote from the others 
as the heavens from the earth? No, it is not true. And now for 
the reason. | 

Let us agree for a moment that the fundamental characteristic 
of society actually is the fact that men consciously regulate their 
relations with each other by means of law. Would it follow that 
we may never ask ourselves why people regulate these relations at 
a certain time and in a certain place in one way, while they order 
them quite differently in another place and at another time? For 
example, the bourgeois German Republic in 1919 and 1920 regu- 
lated social relations by shooting the workers; the Soviet Proleta- 
rian Republic regulates these relations by shooting counter-revolu- 
tionary capitalists; the legislation of bourgeois governments 
pursues the goal of strengthening, extending, perpetuating the rule 
of capital; the decrees of the proletarian state pursue the goal of 
overthrowing the rule of capital and safeguarding the rule of 
labor. Now, if we should wish to understand scientifically, i.¢., to 
explain these phenomena, would it be sufficient simply to say that the 
purposes are different? Everyone will at once see that this would 

2In German: Gegenstiick zur Natur. 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 29 


not be sufficient, for everyone will ask: but why, why should “men” 
in one case set themselves one goal, and in another case a different 
goal? This brings us face to face with the answer: because in the 
one case the proletariat is in power, in the other case the bour- 
geoisie; the bourgeoisie desires one thing, because the conditions 
of its life cause it to have one set of desires; but the conditions 
of the life of the workers cause them to have a different set of 
wishes, etc. In a word, as soon as we wish really to understand 
social phenomena, we immediately find ourselves asking the ques- 
tion: “why ?” 2.e., we ask concerning the causes of these phenomena, 
in spite of the fact that these phenomena may be the expressions 
of certain human purposes. In other words, even if men should 
regulate everything consciously, and even if everything should be 
accomplished in society just as these men desire, we should still 
need an explanation of social phenomena, not teleology, but a con- 
sideration of the causes of the phenomena, i.e¢., the determination 
of a cause and effect relation, as their law. And for this reason 
there is no difference at all in this regard between the social 
sciences and the sciences concerned with nature. 

If we consider the matter well, it is at once apparent that it 
could not be otherwise. As a matter of fact is not man himself, 
is not any specific human society, a portion of nature? Is not 
the human race a portion of the animal world? Anyone denying 
this is ignorant of the very rudiments of present-day science. But 
if man and human society are portions of nature as a whole, it 
would really be very remarkable to find that this portion is in 
complete contradiction with the rest of nature. It is not difficult 
to see that the advocates of teleology here again display the thought 
of the divine nature of man, i.e., the naive thought already dis- 
cussed above. 

We have thus become aware of the complete fallacy of the 
teleological standpoint, even if we should admit that the basic 
characteristic of society is its external regulation (law). Even 
here teleology does not “hold water’’. Besides, in the last analysis, 
“external regulation” is not the most fundamental trait of society. 
Almost all the societies that have existed, to the present day 
(particularly capitalist society) have been distinguished precisely 
by the absence of any regulation, by their anarchy. In the great 
mass of social phenomena, any regulation that positively regulates 
in the manner desired by the law-givers, has never played a very 
decisive part. And how about the future (communist) society? 


30 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


In that society, there will be no “external” (legal) regulation at 
all. For the class-conscious population that has been trained in the 
spirit of workers’ solidarity will not be in need of any external 
pressure (we shall discuss these questions in detail in the following 
chapter). In other words, even from this point of view Stammler’s 
theory is of no avail, and the sole correct method for a scientific 
consideration of social phenomena remains that based on the law 
of cause and effect. 


Stammler’s theory clearly shows the ideology of the capitalist state 
official, which seeks to perpetuate essentially temporary conditions. 
State and law are in reality products of class society, whose parts are 
in constant, sometimes very bitter, struggle with each other. Doubt- 
less the legal standards and the state organization of the ruling class 
were a condition for the existence of this society. But it is precisely 
in a classless society that the picture changes completely. We may 
not therefore regard a relation of historically changeable nature (state, 
law) as a permanent attribute of all society. 

Furthermore, Stammler overlooks the following condition. Very 
frequently it happens that the laws and standards of the state power, 
whereby the ruling class seeks to attain certain results, in reality— 
by reason of a blind evolution, and the social anarchy—lead to entirely 
different results than those originally aimed at. The World War is 
an excellent example; with the aid of state measures (mobilization 
of army and navy, military actions under the leadership of the state 
authority, etc.), the bourgeoisie of the various countries imagined it 
would attain certain definite goals. But the actual outcome was the 
revolution of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie. Apparently, 
Stammler’s pious teleological point of view will not work here. His 
basic error is in overestimating the element of “regulation”, and under- 
estimating the elemental course of evolution, and all his lucubrations 
are therefore devoid of any foundation. 


e. Causality and Teleology; Scientific Explanations are Causal 
Explanations 


It follows from the above that whenever we wish to explain a 
certain phenomenon—and this includes any phenomenon of social 
life—we must inevitably seek its cause. All the efforts of the 
teleological pseudo-explanation are at bottom only expressions of 
religious belief and cannot explain anything. We may therefore 
answer the fundamental question as to whether the inherent law in 
the phenomena of nature and society, the uniformity which we 
observe in these fields, is teleological or causal: Both in nature and 
in society there exists objectively (i.e., regardless of whether we 
wish it or not, whether we are conscious of it or not) a law of 
nature that 1s causal in character. 


CAUSE AND PURPOSE 31 


What constitutes such a law of cause and effect? Such a law 
is a necessary, inevitable, invariable and .universal relation be- 
tween phenomena ; if, for example, the temperature of a body rises, 
its volume will increase; if fluids are heated to a sufficient extent, 
they will be transformed into vapors; if immense quantities of 
paper money are issued, far exceeding normal requirements, they 
will become worthless; if capitalism exists, there will necessarily 
be wars from time to time; if in any country there is a small-scale 
production by the side of a large-scale production, the large-scale 
production will ultimately be the victor; if the proletariat launches 
an attack on capital, capital will defend itself with all its might; 
if the productivity of labor increases, prices will fall; if a certain 
quantity of poison be introduced into the human organism, it will 
die, etc., etc. Ina word it may be said that any law of cause and 
effect may be expressed by the following formula: If certain 
phenomena are actually present, there must necessarily be also 
present certain other phenomena corresponding to them. The ex- 
planation of any phenomenon means the finding of its cause, in 
other words, the finding of a certain other phenomenon on which 
it depends, 1z.¢., the explanation of the cause and effect relation 
between the phenomena. As long as this relation is not determined, 
the phenomenon has not been explained. Once this relation has 
been found, once it has been discovered and verified that this rela- 
tion is really a constant one, we are dealing with a scientific (causal) 
explanation. This mode of explanation is the sole explanation 
that is scientific, both in the phenomena of nature and in those of 
social life. This method of explanation completely rejects divinity ; 
it completely rejects any use of supernatural forces, any appeal to 
the time-worn trumpery of the past, and opens up the road for man 
to obtain a true control both over the forces of nature and his own 
social forces, 


Many oppose the conception of causality and law in nature with the 
argument that (as we have seen) this conception is itself the result of 
the erroneous assumption of a celestial lawgiver. No doubt that is the 
origin of the idea, but the idea has left its origin far behind. Language 
presents many cases of such evolution. When we say, for example, 
“the sun has come up”, “the sun has gone down”, of course we do not 
believe that the sun has actually “come”, or “gone”, as a man comes or 
goes, on two legs, but that was probably the original conception. 
Similarly, in the case of the word “law”, we may say that “a law 
prevails’, or “applies”, which by no means signifies that the two 
phenomena (cause and effect) involve any third invisible little god, 
lodged in the cause, reins in hand. The causal relation is merely the 


32 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


constantly observable connection between phenomena. This conception 
of causality is perfectly in accord with science. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


G. Plekhanov: Grundprobleme des Marxismus (translated from the 
Russian, published by Dietz, Stuttgart). Criticism of our Critics (in 
Russian). Korsak: Society of Law and Society of Labor (in the 
Russian collection: Sketches of a Realistic Conception of the Un- 
verse). Stammler: Wirtschaft und Recht. A. Bogdanov: On the 
Psychology of Soctety (in Russian). Max Adler: Kausalitat und 
Teleologie im Streite um die Wissenschaft. Max Adler: Marsistische 
Probleme, chap. vii: Zur Erkenntniskritik der Sozialwissenschaften. 
Friedrich Engels: Anti-Diihring. Friedrich Engels: Feuerbach (trans- 
lated into English by Austin Lewis, Chicago, 1906). N. Lenin: 
Materialism and Empirio-Criticism (Russian edition, pp. 151-167, 187- 
194; for English translation see Volume XIII, Lenin’s Collected 
Works). Problems of Idealism (a collection of essays against Marx- 
ism, in Russian). 


II. DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM (NECES- 
SITY AND FREE WILL) 


a. The Question of Freedom or Lack of Freedom of the Individual 
Will 


WE have seen that in social life as well as in the life of nature 
there is a certain regularity of law, yet one may have doubts on this 
point. As a matter of fact, social phenomena are created by per- 
sons. Society consists of persons who think, cogitate, feel, pursue 
purposes, act. One does one thing; another for example, may do 
the same thing; a third, another thing; etc. The result of all these 
actions is a social phenomenon. Without people there would be no 
society, there would be no social phenomena. If social phenomena 
follow a uniform law and if they are nevertheless the result of the 
actions of men, it follows that the actions of each individual also de- 
pend on something. It thus follows that man and his will are not 
free, but bound, being subject also to certain laws. If this were not 
the case, if each man and his will did not depend on anything, where 
would we get any regularity in social phenomena? There would 
be no such thing. This is clear to everyone. If everybody were 
lame, it follows that the whole of society would be a society of lame 
persons: there would be nothing with which to form a society of 
any other kind. 

But, on the other hand, what is this question of the dependence of 
the human will? Does not man himself decide what he wishes to 
do? I decided to drink water, and I am drinking water; I decided 
to go to the meeting, and I made up my mind to go. Ona free 
evening, my comrades proposed that we go to the Proletkult 
Theatre, while others wanted to go to the Comedy Theatre; I 
decided to go to the Proletkult; I myself decided it. Has not man 
therefore the freedom of choice? Is he not free in his actions, in 
nis wishes, in his desires, his aspirations? Is he a puppet, a mere 
chessman, moved by forces outside of himself? Does not every 
man know from his own experience that he may freely resolve, 
choose, act? 

This question is called in philosophy the question of freedom or 
lack of freedom of the human will. The doctrine which maintains 

33 


84 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


that the human will is free (independent) is called indeterminism 
(the doctrine of the unconditioned, independent will). The 
doctrine which maintains that the human will is dependent, con- 
ditioned, unfree, is called determinism (the doctrine of the depend- 
ence or conditioning of the will). We must therefore decide which 
of these two points of view is the correct one. 

First of all let us consider to what the doctrine of indeterminism 
would lead us if we should pursue it to its logical conclusion. If 
the human will is free and depends on nothing at all, this would 
mean that it is without cause. But this being the case, what would 
be the result? The result would be the good Old Testament 
religious theory. As a matter of fact we should then have the 
following condition: Everything in the world is accomplished 
according to certain laws. Everything, from the multiplication of 
fleas to the motions of the solar system has its causes; only the 
human will is not subject to this rule. It constitutes the sole ex- 
ception. Here man is already no longer a part of nature, he is a 
sort of god standing above the world. Consequently the doctrine 
of freedom of the will leads straight to religion, which explains 
nothing, for in religion there is no knowledge but only blind belief 
in the practices of the devil, in the mysterious, in the supernatural, 
in bugbears of all kinds. 

Of course this is unreasonable. In order to crack this little nut, 
we must dwell on this point for a bit.. Often—almost always— 
there is a confusion between the feeling of independence, and real 
objective independence. Let us take an example. Let us suppose 
that at a meeting you are looking at the speaker. He takes a glass 
of water from the table and empties it thirstily. What does he 
feel when he reaches for the glass? He is fully conscious of his 
freedom. He himself has decided that he should drink the water 
and not—let us say—dance a jig. He feels his freedom. But does 
this mean that he is really acting without cause, and that his will is 
truly independent? By no means. Every sensible man will at 
once recognize the nature of the case. He will say: “The speaker’s 
throat is dry.” What does this mean? Simply, that the exertion 
of speaking has brought about such changes in the speaker’s throat 
as to call forth in him a desire to drink water. That is the cause. 
An alteration in his organism (physiological cause) has brought 
about a certain desire. It therefore follows that we must not con- 
fuse a sense of freedom of the will, the feeling of independence, 
with causelessness, with an independence of human desires and 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 35 


actions. These are two entirely different things. And yet, the 
confusion of these two things is very frequent in all the reason- 
ings of the indeterminists, who wish at any price to rescue the 
special “divinity” of the human spirit. 


One of the greatest philosophers, Baruch Spinoza (1632-1677) 
wrote concerning most of these philosophers: ‘They obviously think 
of man in nature as of a state within the state, for they believe that 
man disturbs nature more than he complies with it; and that he has 
unconditional power over his actions, being determined from within 
himself and not from elsewhere.” (Ethics, German translation by Otto 
Baensch, Leipzig, 1919, p. 98). This erroneous conception arises only 
because men are not yet conscious of the external causes of their own 
actions. “Thus, a child believes it desires milk of its own volition, like- 
wise, the angry boy believes he desires revenge, voluntarily, while the 
timid man believes he voluntarily desires to flee” (ibid., p. 105). Leib- 
nitz (1646-1716) likewise speaks of men as losing sight of the causes of 
their actions (causas ... fugientes), which gives them the illusion 
of absolute freedom; he mentions the example of the magnetic needle, 
which, if it were able to think, would surely rejoice (laetaretur) in 
its constantly pointing to the north pole (G. G. Leibnitii Opera omnia, 
Tomus I, Geneve, 1768, p. 155). 

The same thought was expressed by D. Merezhkovsky, before he 
was attacked by his apocalyptic anti-bolshevik insanity: 


Each drop of rain, 

If minded as you, 

Descending from on high, 

A blessing from heaven, 
Would surely have surmised: 
“No aimless power 

Controlleth me, 

For of my own free will 

Upon the thirsting fields below 
Swiftly I fall.” 


At bottom, people completely contradict in their actions the 
theory of the freedom of the will. For, if the human will were 
entirely independent of everything, it would be impossible to act at 
all, since there would be no possibility of reckoning or of predict- 
ing. Let us suppose that a speculator is going to the market. He 
knows there will be trading and haggling there, that each seller 
will ask too much, and that the purchasers will attempt to obtain 
lower prices, etc. But he does not expect that people will be walk- 
ing about on all fours in the market, like cats, because it is contrary 
to their nature. What does that mean? Simply, that their 
organism is constituted in a certain way. But do not clowns go 
about on all fours? Yes, for the reason that their will is determined 
by other conditions, and when the speculator goes to the circus 


36 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


he expects that people will go about on all fours, at the circus, 
“contrary to nature’, Why do the buyers wish to buy cheap? 
For the simple reason that they are buyers. Their position as buy- 
ers “obliges” them to secure cheap goods; their wish, their will, 
their action is determined in this direction. But suppose this man 
is a seller? He will then act in the contrary direction. He will . 
seek to sell as high as possible. It follows, in consequence, that 
the will is not at all independent, that it is determined by a num- 
ber of causes, and that persons could not act at all if this were not 
the case. 

Let us now approach the subject from another standpoint. 
Everyone knows that a drunken man will develop “stupid’’ desires 
and that he will perform “stupid” actions. His will acts in a differ- 
ent manner from that of the sober man; the reason is to be found 
in alcoholic poisoning. Simply introduce a certain quantity of 
alcohol into the human organism, and the “divine will’ begins to 
indulge in pranks that will surprise the saints. The reason is 
obvious. Or, let us take another example; feed salt to a man; he 
will necessarily begin “freely” to desire to drink much more than 
usual; the cause is quite obvious And suppose we feed the man 
“normally”? He will then drink a “normal” quantity of water; 
he will “feel like” drinking as any other man would “feel like” 
drinking. In other words, in this case also, the will is precisely as 
dependent as in the unusual cases. 

Man will fall in love when his organism has developed to that 
point. Man in a condition of extreme exhaustion surrenders to 
“black despair’. In a word, man’s feelirig and will are dependent 
on the condition of his organism and on the circumstances in which 
he finds himself. His will, like all the rest of nature, is conditioned 
by certain causes, and man does not constitute an exception to all 
the rest of the world: whether he desire to scratch his ear, or 
accomplish heroic deeds, all his actions have their causes. To be 
sure, in some cases these causes are very difficult to ascertain. But 
that is another matter. We have by no means succeeded in as- 
certaining all the causes in the domain of inanimate nature. But 
this does not mean that these things cannot be explained at all. 
We must bear in mind that, as we have seen, not only the “normal” 
cases are subject to the law of cause and effect. All phenomena 
are subject to this law. The mental diseases may serve as the 
clearest example. Is it possible that the incoherent, stupid, strange 
and peculiar desires and actions of the mentally deranged, the in- 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 37 


sane, can have any law of cause and effect, any “order”? Even these 
have their causes. Under the influence of certain causes the insane 
will behave in a certain way; under certain other influences, they 
will behave in another way, under a third set of causes, in still 
another way; etc. In other words, even in the case of the insane, 
the law of cause and effect remains in full force. 


This is the basis of the classification of mental diseases, all of which 
may be traced back along certain lines: 1. Heredity (syphilis, tuber- 
culosis, etc.); 2. Lesions (traumata); 3. Intoxications (poisons) ; 
4. Various destructive influences and commotions (cf. “Mental Dis- 
eases” in Granat’s Russian Encyclopedia). For example, the dementia 
of dipsomania is described as follows: “The patients believe that evil 
things are planned against them, that all those around them are in a 
plot, not only neighbors, but even domestic animals and inanimate 
objects” . . . etc. (A. Bernstein, same article). Dipsomania is a result 
of alcoholic intoxication. In progressive paralysis (due to syphilis) 
we have different “symptoms”: first stage, mental disturbance, levity, 
coarse actions, credulity; second stage, hallucinations (ideas of gran- 
deur; the patient becomes a millionaire, a king, etc.); third stage, 
general collapse (P. Rosenbach: ‘Progressive Paralysis,” in Brock- 
haus’ Russian Encyclopedia, vol. 49). In the case of certain lesions 
(diseased condition of certain portions of the brain or nervous system), 
the will is determined in certain directions; in other lesions, in other di- 
rections, etc. The entire practice of medicine in nervous diseases is 
based on the dependence of the mental life on certain causes. 


We have purposely chosen examples of the most varied kind. 
A consideration of these examples has shown that under all con- 
ditions, both usual and unusual, both normal and abnormal, the 
will, the feeling, the actions, of the individual man always have a 
definite cause; they are always conditioned (‘determined’), 
defined. The doctrine of freedom of the will (indeterminism) is 
at bottom an attenuated form of a semi-religious view which ex- 
plains nothing at all, contradicts all the facts of life, and constitutes 
an obstacle to scientific development. ‘The only correct point of 
view is that of determinism. 


b. The Resultant of the Individual Wills in Unorganized Soctety 


There is no doubt that society consists of individual persons, and 
that a social phenomenon is composed of a numerous aggregation 
of individual feelings, moods, wills, actions. A social phenomenon 
is, in other words, the result (or, as is sometimes said, the “result- 
ant”, the sum total) of the individual phenomena. Prices are an 
excellent example. Buyers and sellers go to market. The sellers 
have the goods, the buyers have the money, Each of the sellers 


38 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


and buyers is aiming at a certain object: each of them makes a 
certain estimate of goods and money, ponders, calculates, scratches 
and bites. The result of all this commotion in the market is the 
market price. This price may not represent the idea of any in- 
dividual buyer or seller ; it is a social phenomenon arising as a result 
of a struggle of the various wills. The same phenomenon as in 
price-fixing is also observable in all other social relations. Let us 
take, for example, the epoch of the revolution. Some persons pro- 
ceed more energetically, others less so; some are pushing in one 
direction; others in another. From this struggle between persons 
there finally, after the “victory of the revolution”, arises a new 
social structure, a new order of things. A certain order of social 
relations, wrote Marx, “is as much a product of human beings as 
is canvas, linen, etc.” (Karl Marx: The Poverty of Philosophy, 
French edition, Giard and Briére, 1908, page 155). 

We may consider in this connection two different cases, each of 
which has peculiarities of its own. These two cases are: that of 
unorganized society, or a simple commodities or capitalistic society ; 
and that of organized communist society. In the former case, let 
us take the extremely typical example mentioned above, namely 
the example of price fixing. What will be the relation of the price 
which is fixed on the market, with the desires, with the estimates 
and intentions which were present in the mind of each individual 
who came to market? It is obvious that the price will not coincide 
with these wishes. For many persons this price will be outright 
ruinous; namely, for those who simply cannot buy anything “at 
such prices,” and who leave the spot, their pennies in their pockets 
and their stomachs empty; also for those who are wiped out by the 
fact that the price is too low for them. Everyone knows that a 
great number of tradesmen, petty merchants and petty peasants 
are destroyed by the fact that the great factory owners flood the 
market with their cheap wares, which ruin the petty trader, unable 
to maintain the struggle, unable to meet prices at the low points to 
which they may go, when depressed under the weight of the great 
mass of goods thrown on the market by the great capitalists. 

We mentioned above another characteristic example, the example 
of the imperialist war, in which many capitalists in the various 
countries desired to make seizures, with great resulting impoverish- 
ment; from this impoverishment was born the revolution against 
the capitalists ; although, of course, these capitalists had not desired 
such a revolution at all. 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 39 


What does this mean? It means that an unorganized society, 
where there is no planful production, where classes are fighting 
each other, where nothing is done according to plan, but in an 
elemental natural manner, the result obtained (social phenomenon) 
does not coincide with the wishes of many persons. Or, as Marx 
and Engels frequently said, social phenomena are independent of 
the consciousness, the feeling and the will of individuals. This 
“independence of the will of persons’ consists not in the fact that 
the events of social life proceed outside of the persons concerned, 
but in the fact that in unorganized society, in chaotic, elemental 
evolution, the social product of this will (or wills) does not coincide 
with the objects that are proposed by many persons, but sometimes 
is in direct contradiction with these objects (a man wishing to make 
a profit finds himself ruined). 


A great many objections against Marxism are based on the misunder- 
standing of the phrase “independence of the will’, as used by Marx 
and Engels. A few lines from Engels will be in place here: 

“Nothing appears without an intentional purpose, without an end 
desired. . . . That which is willed but rarely happens. In the ma- 
jority of cases the desired ends cross and interfere with each other. 
. .. So, the innumerable conflicts of individual wills and individual 
agents in the realm of history reach a conclusion which is on the whole 
analogous to that in the realm of nature, which is without definite pur- 
pose. The ends of the actions are intended, but the results which fol- 
low from the actions are not intended, or in so far as they appear to 
correspond with the end desired, in their final results are quite differ- 
ent from the conclusion wished” (Feuerbach, translated by Austin 
Lewis, Chicago 1906, pp. I04, 105). 

“Men make their own history, in that each follows his own desired 
ends independent of results, and the results of these many wills acting 
in different directions and their manifold effects upon the world con- 
stitute history. ... But ... we have seen in history that the results 
of many individual wills produce effects, for the most part quite other 
than what is wished—often, in fact, the very opposite’ (Feuerbach, 


pp. 105, 106). 

From the above it follows that in unorganized society, as well 
as in any other society, events are accomplished not outside of 
the will of the individuals, but through this will. In this case the 
individual man is subject to an unconscious natural process which 
is the product of the individual wills. 

Let us now turn our attention to another circumstance. Once 
a certain social result of the individual wills has been obtained, 
this social result determines the conduct of the individual. We 
must emphasize this point, for it is very important. 

Let us begin with the example that has already been mentioned 


40 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


twice, namely, that of price fixing. Let us assume that a pound 
of carrots costs so much on the market. It is obvious that both 
the new purchasers and the new sellers already have had this price 
in mind in advance, that they have already been approximately 
assuming this price in their reckonings. In other words, the social 
phenomenon (price) has a determining influence on the individual 
phenomena (offers and demands). The same thing takes place 
in all the other phases of life. The incipient painter bases his 
activity on all the preceding evolution of his art and on the social 
feelings and sociaf tendencies with which he is surrounded. On 
what are the actions of the statesman based? On the circum- 
stances under which he acts: he may desire either to strengthen 
a certain order or destroy it. This will depend in turn on the 
side on which he stands, on the environment in which he lives, on 
the social class and on the social aspirations from which he draws 
his strength. In other words, his will also is determined by social 
conditions. 

We have seen above that in unorganized society the final con- 
sequence very often is different—sometimes quite different—from 
the original desires of the persons involved. It may here be said 
that the “social product’’ (social phenomenon) dominates the per- 
sons. And this, not only in the sense that it determines the con- 
ducts of these persons, but even in the sense that it directly contra- 
dicts their desires. Thus, in unorganized society we may set up 
the following laws: 

1. Social phenomena are the resultant of the conflict of in- 
dividual wills, feelings, actions, etc. 

2. Social phenomena determine at any given moment the will 
of the various individuals. 

3. Social phenomena do not express the will of individual per- 
sons, but frequently are a direct contradiction of this will; they 
prevail over it by force, with the result that the individual often 
feels the pressure of social forces on his actions (example: the 
ruined merchant, the capitalist, who has stood for war, is disestab- 
lished by the revolution, etc.). 


¢. The Collectively Organized Will (the Resultant of Individual 
Wills in Organized Communist Society) 


Let us now consider the state of affairs in organized society. In 
such a society there is no anarchy in production; there are no 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 41 


classes, no class struggles, no oppositions of class interests, etc. / 
There are not even contradictions between personal and social | 
interests. We are now dealing with a friendly brotherhood of 
workers with a common plan for production. 

What now is the situation of the individual will? Of course, 
society will continue to consist of persons, and social phenomena 
will continue to be the product of the individual wills. But the 
character of this aggregation, the method by which this resultant 
is obtained, are completely different from those obtaining in unor- 
ganized society. In order to grasp this difference clearly, let us 
take a little preliminary example. Let us suppose that we have a, —>) | 
little society or circle of persons who have organized to sing 
together. All propose the same goal for themselves, propose to 
solve the questions involved, to evaluate the difficulties with which 
they are faced, in short, they make resolutions in common and 
carry them out in common. Their common action, their common 
resolution—these are already a collective “product”. But this 
product is not an external, crude, elemental force flying in the 
face of the individual desires; on the contrary, it constitutes an 
enhanced possibility of each individual’s attaining his desire. Five 
men resolve to lift a stone together. Alone, none of them could 
lift it; together, they do so without difficulty. The general reso- 
lution does not differ by a hair’s breadth from the desire of each 
individual. On the contrary, it aids in the realization of this desire. 

The case will be the same—but on a more magnificent scale, 
and in more intricate form—in communist society (by which we 
mean not the period of proletarian dictatorship, nor the first steps 
of communism, but the fully developed communist society in which 
there are no remnants of classes, no state, and no external legal 
norms). In such a society, all the relations between men will be 
obvious to each, and the social volition will be the organization 
of all their wills. It will not be a resultant obtained by elemental 
accident, “independent” of the will of the individual, but a con- 
sciously organized social decision. We therefore cannot have the 
same result as in capitalist society. Under communism, the “social 
product” will not dominate over men, but men will control their 
own decisions, for the very reason that it is they who make the 
resolve, and who make it consciously. It will be impossible to 
observe social phenomena whose effect on the majority of the 
population will be harmful and ruinous. 

But it by no means follows from the above that in a communist 


42 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


society the social will and the will of the individual will be inde- 
pendent of everything, or that there will be freedom of the will 
under communism, with man suddenly becoming a supernatural 
creature who is not subject in any way to the law of cause and 
effect. Under communism, man will remain a portion of nature, 
subject to the general law of cause and effect. Will not each 
individual continue to depend on the circumstances surrounding 
him? He will; he will not act as a savage in Central Africa or 
as a banker belonging to the trading firm of J. Pierpont Morgan 
and Company, or as a hussar in the period of the imperialist war. 
He will act as a member of the communist society. The circum- 
stances of life will determine man’s will. Everyone, for example, 
understands that it will be necessary for a communist society to 
struggle with nature, and consequently the conditions of this strug- 
gle will of themselves define the conduct of men, etc. In a word, 
the deterministic theory will remain in full force in communist 
society also. 

Therefore, we may set up the following laws in the case of 
organized society: 

1. Social phenomena are the resultant of the conflict of tndi- 
vidual wills, feelings, actions, etc. But here this process does not 
proceed with elemental confusion, but—in the decisive instances— 
in an organized manner. 

2. Social phenomena determine at any given moment the will 
of the various individuals. 

3. Social phenomena are an expression of the will of men and 
usually do not fly in the face of this will; men control their own 
decisions and do not feel any pressure of blind social forces upon 
them, since these forces have been replaced by a national social 
organization. 

Engels wrote that humanity, in its transition to communism, makes 
a “leap” from the realm of necessity into the realm of freedom. Some 
bourgeois scholars inferred that Engels meant that determinism would - 
lose its validity in communist society. This view is based on a crude 
distortion of Marxism. Engels meant—and rightly—that in the com- 
munist society evolution would assume a consciously organized char- 
acter, as opposed to the unconscious, blind, elemental stage. Men will 


know what they are doing and how they must operate under the given 
circumstances. “Freedom is the recognition of necessity.” 


d. Accidentalism in General 


In order to understand fully the general interdependence of 
phenomena, we must continue to dwell here on the discussion of 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 43 


so called “accidentalism”. Asa matter of fact, we very frequently 
encounter accident in every-day life, as well as in social life. 
Certain scholars have even taken up special investigations of the 
“role of accident in history”. We very frequently speak of acci- 
dent: persons “chanced” to be walking in the street; a brick, falling 
from the roof, killed a man; by chance I purchased an extremely 
rare book; accidentally, in a strange city, I met a man I had not 
seen for twenty years, etc. Further examples: playing “heads or 
tails’, or dice. By accident, “heads” came out: I won; by acci- 
dent, it was “tails”: I lost. How shall we explain this accident in 
terms of natural law, or, in other words, where does causal neces- 
sity enter here? 

Let us examine this question. Let us first consider the case of 
“heads” and “tails”. Why, for example, should “heads” come out 
on top? Is it true that there were no reasons, no causes? There 
must have been causes. Heads came out on top, because, with a 
coin of given shape, I made certain motions with my hand, with 
a certain force, in a certain direction; result: the coin fell with a 
certain surface down, etc. If all these conditions should be re- 
peated, inevitably “heads” would again appear. And if the experi- 
ment should be made a third time, the result would be the same. 
But the fact is that in tossing the coin, it is simply impossible to 
discount all the circumstances in advance. A slight inclination of 
the hand, a flip of a finger, a change of the force with which the 
coin is tossed, all these will influence the result. The causes lead- 
ing to the result (obverse or reverse appearing on top) cannot 
here be calculated in practice. They exist, but we cannot reckon 
with them, because we do not know them. In this case we term 
our ignorance “accident”. 

Let us now take another example: my accidental meeting with 
an acquaintance whom I had not seen for twenty years. It is not 
difficult to see that there are causes for this meeting ; impelled by 
certain causes I left at a certain time and went by a certain route 
with a certain speed; impelled by another set of causes, my 
acquaintance at a certain time began his journey on a certain road, 
with a certain speed. It is quite evident that the combined action 
of all these causes necessarily brought about our meeting. Why 
should this meeting appear accidental to me? Why should it seem 
to me that no causal necessity was present? For the very simple 
reason that I am ignorant of the causes governing my friend’s 
actions, that I am ignorant even of the fact that he is living in 


44 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


the same city, and consequently am unable to foresee our 
meeting. 

If, of two or more causal chains (series) of intersecting actions, 
we know only one, the phenomenon obtained by their intersection 
will appear accidental to us, though in reality it is in accordance 
with law. I know one of the chains (one series) of causes, those 
resulting in my own passing through the street; of the other chain 
(series) of causes, those impelling my friend, I am ignorant. For 
this reason, this intersection strikes me as an “accidental” phenome- 
non. Strictly speaking, therefore, there are no accidental, 1.e., 
causeless phenomena. But phenomena may impress us as “acci- 
dental’? when their causes are insufficiently clear to us. 


Spinoza already knew this: he states that “a thing is called accidental 
merely through lack of inner understanding ... , because the series 
of causes is concealed from us” (Ethics, translation by Baensch, 
Leipzig, 1919, p. 30). John Stuart Mill, in his System of Logic, Book 
iii., chap. xvii, par. 2, after making a correct analysis, writes as follows: 
“Tt is incorrect, then, to say that any phenomenon is produced by 
chance; but we may say that two or more phenomena are conjoined 
by chance, that they coexist or succeed one another only by chance; 
meaning that they are in no way related through causation; that they 
are neither cause and effect, nor effects of the same cause, nor effects 
of causes between which there subsists any law of coexistence, nor even 
effects of the same original collocation of primeval causes.’ We have 
italicized the incorrect statements. The fact is (in the example of my 
meeting a friend) that I did not leave my house because my friend 
had gone away, and my friend did not set out because I had gone away. 
But if there is given a certain “distribution of causes”, 1t.e., if we 
assume as given that I went away at a certain time, on a given path, 
with given speed, and if we assume the same details to be given in the 
case of my friend, we are in possession of the causes of our meeting; 
there is as little of accident and independence in this “distribution of 
causes” as in the case of eclipses of the sun or moon, which are deter- 
mined by a certain situation (“meeting”) of celestial bodies. 


e. Historical “Accident” 


After what has been said above, the question of so called “his- 
torical accident” is a relatively simple matter. 

If at bottom all things proceed in accordance with law, and if 
there is nothing that is accidental—causeless—it is clear there can 
be no such thing as accident in history. Each historical event, 
however accidental it may appear, is absolutely and completely 
conditioned by certain causes; historical accidentalism also simply 
means the intersection of certain causal series of which only one 
series is known, 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM A5 


Sometimes, however, the term historical accident is used in an- 
other sense. For instance, when we say that the imperialist war 
was a necessary result of the evolution of world capitalism, we are 
also in the habit of adding that the murder of the Austrian Arch- 
duke was an accidental phenomenon; but here “accident” is some- 
thing different. When we speak of the necessity (causal necessity, 
inevitability) of the imperialist war, we infer this inevitability 
from the immense power of certain causes in the evolution of 
society, causes leading to war. Similarly, the war in its turn is 
also an event of immense importance, an event exerting a decisive 
influence on the further destinies of society. Therefore, the ex- 
pression “historical accident” as used here, signifies a circum- 
stance that does not play an important part in the chain of social 
events: even if this “accident” had not come to pass, the subse- 
quent evolution would have been altered so little as not to be 
essentially changed in any way. In the given case: the war would 
have come if the Archduke had not been killed, for the “‘crux of 
the matter” was not in this slaying, but in the sharpening of the 
competition between the imperialist powers, growing fiercer day 
by day with the evolution of capitalist society. 

May we say that such “accidental” phenomena play no part at 
all in social life, that they have no effect on the destinies of society, 
that they are equivalent to zero? A truly correct answer could 
not deny the importance even of “accidental” events, for each 
event, “insignificant” though it may be, actually has an influence 
on all of subsequent history. 

The important point is the magnitude of the effect of such an 
event on the evolution of the future. When we speak of phe- 
nomena that are “accidental” in the sense above indicated, their 
practical influence is unimportant, insignificant, infinitely small. 
This influence may be infinitesimal, but it is not zero. We shall 
understand this if we consider the combined aggregate action of 
such “accidental” facts. For example: let us consider the fixing 
of prices. The market price is fixed by the conflict of a great mass 
of guesses on the part of buyers and sellers. If we consider a sin- 
gle case, a single price-estimate, the meeting of a single buyer and 
a single seller, such an instance may be considered “accidental”. 
Merchant John Brown fleeces old man Smith. This act, from the 
point of view of the market-price, t.e., of a social phenomenon, 
the resultant of a multitude of meetings between various estimates, 
is accidental. What does it matter what happened to John Brown 


46 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


in any given case? What we want is the final result, the social 
phenomenon, the typical fact in the matter. We often hear such 
statements, and they are quite reasonable. For the individual 
case is of negligible importance. But just combine a great number 
of such “accidents”, and you will at once see that their “accidental 
nature’ begins to disappear. The function and significance of 
many actions, their combined action, is at once felt in the sequel. 
So the individual cases are by no means zero quantities, for zero, 
however frequently multiplied, will never give more than zero. 
We therefore observe that, strictly speaking, there is no such 
thing as-an accidental phenomenon in the historical evolution of 
society; the fact that Karl Kautsky could not sleep one night 
because he was dreaming of the terrors of the Bolshevik Revolu- 
tion; the fact that the Austrian Archduke was killed shortly before 
the war; the fact that England was pursuing a colonial policy; 
the fact that the world war was brought about; in a word, all 
events, from the most petty and insignificant to the most epoch- 
making events of our times, are equally not accidental, are equally 
conditioned by causes, 7.¢., are equally the result of causal necessity. 


f. Historical Necessity 


It follows from the above that the conception of “accident”? must 
also be banished from the social sciences. Society and its evolu- 
tion are as much subject to natural law as is everything else in 
the universe. 


Characteristically enough, the doctrine of accident, when it seriously 
admits accidentalism as a fact, leads directly into a faith in the super- 
natural, a faith in God. This is the basis of the so called “cosmological 
proof” of the existence of God;.if the cosmos is not subject to the law 
of cause and effect, it is evident that there must be a special cause for 
its existence and evolution. This alleged reasoning is also designated 
as a “proof of the accidental nature of the universe” (e contingentia 
mundi), and may be found in Aristotle, Cicero, Leibnitz, Christian 
Wolff, etc. In the present period of decline and disintegration of 
bourgeois society, the doctrine of accident is again being widely ac- 
cepted (for instance, by the French philosophers Boutroux, Bergson, 
etc.). 


The conception of accidentalism is directly opposed to that of 
necessity (causal necessity). 

“A thing is necessary when it follows inevitably from certain 
causes.” When we say that a certain phenomenon was a historical 
necessity, we mean that it necessarily had to follow, without regard 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM A 


to whether it would be good or bad. When we speak of causal 
necessity, we are not giving the slightest indication of our opinion 
of the event, of its desirability or undesirability ; we are consider- 
ing only its inevitability. But we must not—as is often done— 
confuse two entirely different conceptions: necessity in the sense 
of “great desirability”, and causal necessity. No two things could 
be farther apart. And when we speak of historical necessity, we 
do not mean “desirability” from the standpoint of—let us say— 
social progress, but the inevitable result of the course of social 
evolution. In this sense, we may speak of the historical necessity 
of the rapid growth of the productive forces at the end of the 
Nineteenth Century, or of the disappearance of the so called Cretan 
civilization. Necessary means only: conditioned by cause. 

We now are brought to a rather difficult question, still connected 
with this difficult matter of necessity. 

Let us suppose that we have before us a human society which 
has doubled in population in the course of twenty years. We 
may rightly infer that production has grown in this society. If it 
had not grown, the society could not have doubled its population. 
If this society has increased in numbers, production must also 
have increased. This example would not seem to require further 
explanation. But what does it involve? We are here seeking 
by a special method the cause of social growth, the cause that 
constitutes the necessary condition of this growth. If this condi- 
tion is not present, there will be no growth; if there is a growth, 
as a consequence, this condition must also be present. 

This example might lead to conflicts of the following nature. 
At the beginning of this book we mercilessly cast out teleology. 
Now it looks as if we were ourselves restoring it: “Drive nature 
out by the door, and she will fly in through the window.” But does 
our formulation of this question permit this inference? For the 
growth of society, for the doubling of its numbers, it was necessary 
that production should increase. The growth and increase of 
society is the goal, the “telos”. The increase of production is the 
means for realizing this goal. The natural law of growth is there- 
fore a teleological natural law. But this would be equivalent to a 
violation of scientific method, and to falling into the open arms 
of the priests. 

As a matter of fact, we are dealing with an entirely different 
situation, not at all teleological in its nature. We are here pro- 
ceeding from the assumption that society has grown (in a con- 


48 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


crete case, we may proceed from the fact that society has grown). 
But then, society may nof grow. And if it should not grow, but 
—let us say—should decrease by one-half, and if, furthermore, 
the decrease should be due to insufficient food, it is clear that 
production must have been curtailed. No man can be prevailed 
upon to behold “purpose” in the destruction of society. No one 
can be induced, in this case, to reason as follows: the goal is the 
decrease in the numbers of society by insufficient food; the means 
for realizing this goal is a curtailment of production. Here we 
cannot see teleology at all. We are simply seeking the condition 
(cause) leading to the result (effect). The necessary condition 
for further evolution is also frequently called historical necessity. 
In this sense of the term “historical necessity”, we may speak of 
the “‘necessity” of the French Revolution, without which capitalism 
could not have continued to grow; or of the “necessity” of the 
so called “Liberation of the Serfs’” in Russia in 1861, without 
which Russian capitalism could not have developed. In this sense 
we may also speak of the historical necessity of socialism, since 
without it human society cannot continue to develop. If society 
is to continue to develop, socialism will inevitably come. This is 
the sense in which Marx and Engels speak of “social necessity’. 


The method of finding the necessary conditions from the given or 
accepted facts was very often used by Marx and Engels, although but 
little attention has been given to their use of this method. The whole 
of Capital is built up on it. Given: a commodities-producing society 
with all its elements; how explain its existence? Answer: it can exist 
only under the condition that the law of value exists; countless com- 
modities are exchanged against each other; how may we explain this? 
It is possible only if we assume the existence of a money system (social 
necessity of money). Capital is accumulated on the basis of the laws 
of commodities circulation. This is possible only because the value 
of the labor power is lower than that of the product turned out, etc. 


g. Are the Social Sciences Possible? Is Prediction Possible 
in this Field? 


From what has been said above it follows that prediction is 
possible in the domain of the social sciences as well as in that of 
the natural sciences. Such prediction is not of the kind practiced 
by the charlatan or faker, but is of scientific nature. We know, 
for example, that astronomers are able to predict with the utmost 
precision the time of an eclipse of the sun or moon; they can 
predict the appearance of comets or of great numbers of “falling 
stars’; meteorologists can predict the weather—sunshine, wind, 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 49 


storm, rain. There is nothing mysterious about these predictions, 
as we may see from the example of the astronomer, who knows 
the laws of motion of the planets; the path followed by sun, moon, 
earth; and also, the velocities with which they move, and at what 
points they will be in their paths at a certain time. There is 
nothing miraculous in the fact that under these conditions it can 
be precisely calculated when the moon will come between the earth 
and the sun and hide the “light of heaven” from our sight. Now, 
let us ask whether there is anything similar to this in the social 
sciences; the answer is in the affirmative. If we know the laws 
of social growth, the paths along which society necessarily travels, 
the direction of this evolution, it will not be difficult for us to 
define the future society. In social science we have had many 
instances of such predictions which have been fully justified by 
the outcome. On the basis of our knowledge of the laws of social 
evolution, we predicted economic crises, the devaluation of paper 
money, the world war, the social revolution as a result of the war; 
we predicted the behavior of the various groups, classes and parties 
in the time of the Russian Revolution; we predicted, for example, 
that the Social-Revolutionists would be transformed, after the 
proletarian coup d’état, into a counter-revolutionary party of rich 
peasants, of Whites, of lawless bands; long before the revolu- 
tion, as early as the nineties of the last century, Russian Marxists 
were predicting the inevitable growth of capitalism in Russia and 
with it the inevitable growth of the workers’ movement. We 
might give hundreds of examples of such predictions, in none of 
which is there anything miraculous, once we know the laws of the 
social-historical process. 

We cannot predict the time of the appearance of any such 
phenomenon, for we do not yet possess sufficient information 
regarding the laws of social evolution to be able to express them 
in precise figures. We do not know the velocity of the social 
processes, but we are already in a position to ascertain their 
direction, 


Bulgakov, in his Capitalism and Agriculture (in Russian, 1900, vol. 
ii., pp. 457-458), says: ‘““Marx considered it possible to measure and 
predict the future in accordance with past and present, whereas each 
epoch furnishes new facts and new forces of historical evolution—the 
creative power of history never runs dry. Therefore, any prognosis 
with regard to the future, which is based on the results of the present, 
must necessarily (!!!) be in error. ... The veil of the future is 
impenetrable.” The same author, in his Philosophy of Economy (in 


50 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Russian, Moscow, 1912, p. 272): “But even much more modest pre- 
dictions may be admitted, in the case of social science, only with a 
grain of salt. The ‘tendencies of evolution’ determined by science and 
favorable to socialism, have very little in common with the ‘laws of 
natural science’, that Marx takes them to be. They are merely ‘em- 
pirical’. . . they have an entirely different logical nature from that 
of the laws of mechanics.” These quotations from Professor Bulgakov 
will serve as a very characteristic example of the “refutation” of 
Marxism; needless to say, they will not hold water. Bulgakov thinks 
that the laws of capitalist evolution, for example, are “empirical laws”. 
“Empirical” is the term given to such causal relations as have not yet 
been unraveled. For instance, it has been observed that more boys 
are born than girls, but the reasons for the phenomenon are unknown. 
Such “laws” are truly different in their “logical nature”. But this is 
not the case with the laws of evolution of socialism, which have a 
causal thread. The law of the centralization of capital, for instance, 
is not an “empirical law”, but a real law of natural science. If small 
production units are competing with large ones, the victory of the 
latter is inevitable. We know the causal connections; we may predict 
the victory of large-scale production in Japan or in Central Africa. 

Our first quotation from Bulgakov is merely superficial literary 
drivel. History “furnishes new facts”, the creative power of history 
does not run dry, etc. But the evolution of nature also furnishes “new 
facts”; such new facts are not unknown to the natural sciences, or to 
mathematics, with their different “logical nature”. Bulgakov is right 
only in his statement that we never know everything, but that is no 
reason for inferring that science is an insufficient instrument. 

It is also quite characteristic that Bulgakov, in his Philosophy of 
Economy, dwells frequently and very seriously on angels, the lust of 
the flesh, man’s fall from grace, Saint Sophia, etc. This stuff, to be 
sure, is of a “different logical nature”, one that much resembles the 
charlatanry and quackery attacked by Bulgakov. 


The theory of determinism in the field of social phenomena, and 
of the possibility of scientific prediction, has called forth a number 
of replies, of which we shall consider one, from the mouth of 
R. Stammler. Stammler asks the Marxists—who maintain that 
socialism must come with the same degree of certainty as does an 
eclipse of the sun—why the Marxists should attempt to bring about 
socialism in that case. One of two things is true, says Stammler, 
either socialism will come, like an eclipse of the sun, in which case 
there is no reason for effort, for struggle, for a party organization 
of the working class, etc.; for no one would think of organizing 
a party to support an eclipse of the sun; for, in organizing a party, 
in conducting the struggle, etc., you are admitting that it is possible 
that socialism may not come; but you desire it, and consequently 
are struggling for it. 

But such is not the nature of the necessity of socialism. It is 
easy, in view of our foregoing exposition, to detect Stammler’s 


DETERMINISM AND INDETERMINISM 51 


error. An eclipse of the sun does not depend either directly or 
indirectly on human desires; in fact, it does not depend on men 
at all. All humans might die, without distinction of class, sex, 
nationality, and age, and yet the sun would be eclipsed at a certain 
moment. The case with social phenomena is entirely different, 
for they are accomplished through the will of men. Social phe- 
nomena without humans, without society, would be something like 
a round square or burning ice. Socialism will come inevitably 
because it is inevitable that men, definite classes of men, will stand 
for its realization, and they will do so under circumstances that 
will make their victory certain. Marxism does not deny the will, 
but explains 1t. When Marxists organize the Communist Party 
and lead it into battle, this action is also an expression of historical 
necessity, which finds its form precisely through the will and the 
actions of men. 

Social determinism, 1.e., the doctrine that all social phenomena 
are conditioned, have causes from which they necessarily flow, must 
not be confused with fatalism, which is a belief in a blind, inevi- 
table destiny, a “fate”, weighing down upon everything, and to 
which everything is subjected. Man’s will is nothing. Man is not 
a quantity to be considered among causes; he is simply a passive 
substance. This teaching denies the human will as a factor in 
evolution, which determinism does not. 


This “Fate” is often embodied in godlike creatures, as the Moira of 
the ancient Greeks, the Parcae of the Romans; in a number of Fathers 
of the Church (for instance, Saint Augustine), the doctrine of pre- 
destination plays the same role; the Reformer Calvin illustrates the 
same phenomenon (cf. R. Wipper: Church and State 1n Geneva in the 
Sixteenth Century, in Russian) ; we have a particularly striking expres- 
sion of fatalism in Islam. But we cannot help calling attention to this 
fatalistic tendency among the Social-Democrats. Precisely in that 
section of the Social-Democracy which has allied itself with the bour- 
geoisie, Marxism has degenerated into a fatalistic notion. Cunow, 
whose whole “philosophy” is expressed in the thesis that “history is 
always right”, and that therefore no one should oppose either the 
World War or imperialism, is the best example of this fatalistic dis- 
tortion of Marxism. This distorted view would represent any com- 
munist uprising of the workers as a senseless effort to violate the laws 
of historical evolution from without, and not as an outcome of histori- 
cal necessity. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Karl Marx: A Contribution to a Critique of Political Economy, 
Introduction. Friedrich Engels: Antt-Diihring. Friedrich Engels: 
Feuerbach (translation by Austin Lewis, Chicago, 1906). Plekhanov 


52 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


(Beltov) : On the Question of the Development of the Monitstic Stand- 
point in History. Plekhanov: Criticism of Our Critics. Plekhanov: 
Fundamental Problems of Marxism (all three in Russian). N. Lenin: 
Materialism and Empirio-Criticism (translated). V. Bazarov: Authori- 
tarian Metaphysics and the Autonomous Personality (in Russian; 
sketches contributing to a realistic Weltanschauung). A Labriola: 
Aufsdtze. 


III. DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 


a. Materialism and Idealism in Philosophy; the Problem of 
the Objective 


In our consideration of the question of the human will, the 
question whether it is free, or determined by certain causes, like 
everything else in the world, we arrived at the conclusion that we 
must adopt the point of view of determinism. We found that the 
will of man is not divine in character, that it depends on external 
causes and on the conditions of the human organism. This brought 
us face to face with the most important question that has troubled 
the human mind for thousands of years—the question as to the 
relation between matter and mind, which in simple parlance is 
often spoken of as the relation between “soul” and “body”. In 
general, we distinguish between two kinds of phenomena. Phe- 
nomena of the one kind have extension, occupy space, are observed 
through our external senses: we may see them, hear them, feel 
them, taste them, etc.; such we call material phenomena. Others 
have no place in space and cannot be felt or seen. Such, for 
example, are the human mind, or will, or feeling. But no one can 
doubt their existence. The philosopher. Descartes considered just 
this circumstance to be the proof of man’s existence; Descartes 
said: “Cogito, ergo sum” ;—I think, therefore I am. Yet, man’s 
thought cannot be felt or smelt; it has no color and cannot be 
directly measured in yards or meters. Such phenomena are called 
psychical; in simple language, “spiritual”. We have now to con- 
sider the question of the relation between these two kinds of 
phenomena. Is the mind “the beginning of all things”, or is it 
matter? Which comes first; which is the basis; does matter pro- 
duce mind, or does mind produce matter? What is the relation 
between the two? This question involves the fundamental con- 
ception of philosophy, on the answer to which depend the answers 
to many other questions in the domain of the social sciences. 

Let us try to consider it from as many standpoints as possible. 
First of all, we must bear in mind that man is a part of nature. 
We cannot know for certain whether other more highly organized 
creatures exist on other planets, although it is probable that such 

53 


54 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


do exist, for the number of planets seems endless. But it is clearly 
apparent to us that the being called “man” is not a divine creature, 
standing outside of the world, projected from some other, un- 
known, mysterious universe, but, as we know from the natural sci- 
ences, he is a product and a portion of nature, subject to its gen- 
eral laws. From the example of the world as we know it, we find 
that psychic phenomena, the phenomena of the so called “spirit’’, 
are an infinitesimal portion of the sum of all phenomena. In the 
second place, we know that man has sprung from other animals, 
and that, after all, “living creatures” have been in existence on 
earth only for a time. When the earth was still a flaming sphere, 
resembling the sun today, long before it had cooled, there was no 
life on its surface, nor thinking creatures of any kind. Organic 
nature grew out of dead nature; living nature produced a form 
capable of thought. First, we had matter, incapable of thought; 
out of which developed thinking matter, man. If this is the case 
—and we know it is, from natural science—it is plain that matter 
is the mother of mind; mind is not the mother of matter. Children 
are never older than their parents. “Mind” comes later, and we 
must therefore consider it the offspring, and not the parent, as the 
immoderately partisan worshipers of everything “spiritual” would 
make it. 

In the third place: “mind” does not appear until we already 
have matter organized in a certain manner. 

A zero cannot think; nor can a doughnut—or the hole in it— 
think; nor can “mind” think without matter. Man’s brain, a part 
of man’s organism, thinks. And man’s organism is matter organ- 
ized in a highly intricate form. 

In the fourth place: it is quite clear from the above why matter 
may exist without mind, while “mind” may not exist without 
matter. Matter existed before the appearance of a thinking 
human; the earth existed long before the appearance of any kind 
of “mind” on its surface. In other words, matter exists objec- 
tively, independently of “mind”. But the psychic phenomena, the 
so called “mind”, never and nowhere existed without matter, were 
never independent of matter. Thought does not exist without a 
brain; desires are impossible unless there is a desiring organism. 
“Mind” is always closely connected with “matter” (only in the 
Bible do we find the “spirit” hovering unaided over the waters). 
In other words: psychic phenomena, the phenomena of conscious- 
ness, are simply a property of matter organized in a certain man- 


eed 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 55 


ner, a “function” of such matter (a function of a certain quantity 
is a second quantity depending on the first). Now man is a very 
delicately organized creature. Destroy this organization, disor- 
ganize it, take it apart, cut it up, and the “mind” at once dis- 
appears. If men were able to put together this system again, to 
assemble the human organism, in other words, if it were possible 
to take a human body apart and put it together again just as one 
may do with the parts of a clock, consciousness would also at once 
return; once the clock has been reassembled it will operate and 
start to tick; put together the human organism, and it will start 
to think. Of course, we are not yet able to do this. But we have 
already seen, in our discussion of determinism, that the state of 
“mind” of the consciousness, depends on the state of the organism. 
Intoxicate the organism with alcohol, the consciousness will become 
confused, the mind is befuddled. Restore the organism to its 
normal state (for instance, administer antidotes for toxic sub- 
stances) and the mind will again begin to work in the normal 
manner. The above clearly shows the dependence of consciousness 
on matter, or in other words, “of thought on life”. 

We have seen that psychical phenomena are a property of matter 
organized in a certain manner. We may therefore have various 
fluctuations, various forms of material organization, and also vari- 
ous forms of mental life. Man, with his brain, is organized in one 
manner—he has the most perfect psychical life on earth—a true 
consciousness ; the dog is organized in a different manner and the 
psyche of the dog therefore differs from that of man; the worm 
is also organized in a special manner, and the “mind” of the worm 
is consequently extremely poor, by no means comparable with that 
of man; the organization of the stone places it with inanimate mat- 
ter, and it therefore has no psychic life at all. A special and intri- 
cate organization of matter is required for the appearance of a 
psyche. An extremely intricate organization of matter is the neces- 
sary presupposition for the appearance of an intricate psychic life, 
which we call a consciousness. On earth, this consciousness 
appears only when matter has been organized, as in the case of 
man, with his most complicated instrument, the brain in his head. 

Thus, mind cannot exist without matter, while matter may very 
well exist without mind; matter existed before mind; mind is a 
special property of matter organized in a special manner. 

It is not difficult to discern that idealism (the doctrine based 
on a fundamental idea underlying all things, a “spirit”), is simply 


56 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


a diluted form of the religious conception according to which a 
divine mysterious power is placed above nature, the human con- — 
sciousness being considered a little spark emanating from this 
divine power, and man himself a creature chosen by God. The 
idealistic point of view, if pursued to its conclusion, leads to a 
number of absurdities, which are often defined with a serious face 
by the philosophers of the ruling classes. Particularly, we find 
associated with idealism such views as deny the external world, 
i.e., the existence of things objectively, independently of the human 
consciousness, sometimes also the existence of other persons. The 
extreme and most consistent form of idealism is the so called 
solipsism (Latin solus, “alone”, “only’’; tpse, “self”). The 
solipsist reasons as follows: “What data do I possess? My con- 
sciousness, nothing more; the house in which I live is present only 
in my sensations; the man with whom I speak, also only a sen- 
sation. In a word, nothing exists outside of myself, there is only 
my ego, my consciousness, my mental existence; there is no ex- 
ternal world apart from me; it is simply a creature of my mind. 
For I am aware of only my own internal life, from which I have 
no means of escaping. Everything I see, hear, taste, everything 
about which I think and reason, is a sensation, a conception, a 
thought, of mine.” 

This insane philosophy, concerning which Schopenhauer wrote 
that genuine supporters of it could be found only in the insane 
asylum (which did not prevent Schopenhauer, however, from con- 
sidering the world als Wille und Vorstellung, “as volition and 
concept”, in other words, from being an idealist of the purest 
water ), is contradicted by human experience at every step. When 
we eat, conduct the class struggle, put on our shoes, pluck flowers, 
write books, take a wife or a husband, none of us ever thinks of 
doubting the existence of the external world, 1.e., the existence— 
let us say—of the food we eat, the shoes we wear, the women 
we marry. None the less, this fallacy is based on the fundamental 
position of idealism. As a matter of fact, if “mind” is the basis 
of all things, what was the state of the case before man existed? 
There are two possible answers: either we must assume the exist- 
ence of a certain extra-human, divine spirit of the variety men- 
tioned in the ancient Biblical stories; or, we must assume that 
the events of ages long past are also the product of my imagi- 
nation. The first solution leads us to so called objective idealism, 
which recognizes the existence of an external world independent 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 57 


of “my” consciousness. The essence of this world is found in its 
spiritual origin, in God, or in a “supreme mind” which here takes 
the place of God, in a “world will’, or in some other such hocus- 
pocus. The second solution leads us straight into solipsism, 
through subjective idealism, which recognizes the existence only 
of spiritual beings, of a number of thinking subjects. It is easy 
to recognize solipsism as the most consistent form of idealism. 
But where does idealism find its basis as a matter of fact? Why 
does it consider the mental beginning to be more primitive and 
fundamental? For the reason, in the last analysis, that it assumes 
“my” data to consist of my sensations only. But if this is the 
case, I may doubt equally well the existence of a post in the yard, 
and of any other human being but myself, including my own 


parents. Thus solipsism commits suicide, for it destroys not only 


tt 


all of idealism in philosophy, but, in the consistent pursuit of its 
idealistic views, leads to a complete absurdity, to complete insanity, 
contradicted at every step by the actual practice of men. 


Theoretical materialism and idealism must not be confused with 
“practical idealism” and “materialism”, for the latter have nothing to 
do with the former. A man who remains faithful to his ideal is called 
an “idealist” in the practical sense; he may be an outspoken opponent 
of philosophical idealism, of theoretical idealism. A communist who 
sacrifices his life is an idealist in practice, and yet a materalist through 
and through. The philistine who sobs to his Lord may have very 
idealistic notions, which do not prevent him, however, from being a 
base, stupid, selfish and narrow-minded creature. 

Plato is commonly considered the founder of philosophical idealism: 
Plato believed that only “ideas” exist objectively, i.e., in reality. Men, 
pears, wagons, do not exist; the idea of a man, of a pear, of a wagon, 
does exist. These ideal patterns, existing from the beginning of time, 
dwell in a special supermundane resort of ‘‘reason”. What men con~ 
sider to be pears, wagons, etc., are merely wretched shadows of the 
corresponding idea. Above all these ideas there hovers, like the spirit 
of God, the supreme idea, the “idea of the Good”. A tendency to sub- 
jective idealism is usually found in those Greek philosophers known 
as Sophists (Protagoras, Gorgias, etc.), who set up the principle that 
“man is the measure of all things”. In the Middle Ages, the Platonic 
“ideas” began to be interpreted as models and patterns according to 
which the Lord shapes visible things. For instance, the louse that we 
see is created by God according to his “louse-idea”, which dwells in a 
supersensual world. More recently, Bishop Berkeley developed the 
view of subjective idealism, maintaining that only the spirit exists, the 
rest being mere imagination. Fichte believed that without a subject 
(a cognizing spirit) there could be no object (external world), and 
that matter is an expression of the idea. Schelling held ideas to be the 
essences of things, based on a divine eternity. All being, according to 
Hegel, is merely an effluvium of objective reason in the course of its 
unfolding. ; 


58 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Schopenhauer regards the world as will and conception (Wille und 
Vorstellung). Kant recognizes the existence of the objective universe 
(Ding an sich), but it is not subject to cognition and is immaterial in 
its nature. Idealism, with its many subdivisions, has become very 
strong in modern philosophy, by reason of the predilection of the bour- 
geoisie for everything that is mystical, an indication of its low morale, 
now full of despair, eager for mental solace. 

We first find tendencies to materialist philosophy in the ancient 


Greek philosophers of the so called Ionic school, who considered matter ~ / 


to be the basis of all being, but likewise believed that all matter was 
capable of more or less feeling. ‘These philosophers were therefore 
called Hylogoists (those who put life into matter; from Greek hyle, 
dAn, matter; and zoe, éwy, life). 

Of course these first steps were rather unsatisfactory in their result. 
Thus, Thales sought the basis of all being in water; Anaximenes, in 
air; Heraclitus, in fire; Anaximander, in a certain substance of indefi- 
nite nature and embracing all things, called by him apeiron, the “in- 
finite”, “unlimited”. The Hylozoists also included the Stoics, who 
considered all existing things to be material. Materialism was further 
developed by the Greeks Democritus and Epicurus, later by the Roman 
Lucretius Carus. Democritus magnificently expounded the basis of 
the atomistic theory. According to his doctrine the world consists of 
moving, falling material particles, atoms, whose combinations con- 
stitute the invisible universe. In the Middle Ages, the idealistic clap- 
trap prevailed on the whole. The brilliant and profound intellect of 
Baruch Spinoza developed the idea of the Hylozoist materialists. In 
England, the materialist standpoint was defended by Thomas Hobbes 
(1588-1679). Materialism was much encouraged in the period pre- 
liminary to the French revolution, which produced a number of excel- 
lent materialist philosophers: Diderot, Helvetius, Holbach (whose 
chief work, Systéme de la nature, appeared in 1770), Lamettrie (Man 
a Machine, 1785). This group of philosophers of the then revolu- 
tionary bourgeoisie has furnished us with excellent formulations of 
the materialistic theory (cf. N. Beltov: On the Question of Evolution 
of the Monistic View of History, and N. Lenin: Materialism and 
Empirio-Criticism, pp. 26 et seq.). Diderot ingeniously derided the 
idealists of the type of Berkeley: “In a moment of madness, the 
sentient piano imagined it was the only piano existing in the world, 
and that the entire harmony of the universe was accomplished within 
itself” (Oeuvres complétes de Diderot, Paris, 1875, vol. ii, p. 118). 
In Germany, in the Nineteenth Century, this cause was advanced by 
Ludwig Feuerbach, who had a great influence on Marx and Engels, 
and they, in turn, furnished the most complete theory of materialism, 
by combining it with the dialectic method (see below), and extended 
the materialistic theory to the social sciences, banishing idealism from 
its last place of refuge. Of course, the senile bourgeoisie, now drool- 
ing about God like a soft-brained old man, regards materialism with 
hatred. It is easy to understand that materialism necessarily will be 
fae revolutionary theory of the young revolutionary class, the pro- 
etariat. 


b. The Materialist Attitude in the Social Sciences 
Everyone will understand that this dispute between materialism 
and idealism cannot possibly fail to be expressed in the social 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 59 


sciences also. In fact, human society presents a number of phe- 
nomena of various kinds. For instance, we find “exalted matters” 
such as religion, philosophy and morality; we also find innumerable 
ideas held by men, in various fields; we find an exchange of goods 
or a distribution of products; we find a struggle between various 
classes among themselves; there is a production of products, wheat, 
rye, shoes, machinery, varying with the time and place. How 
shall we proceed to explain this society? From what angle shall 
we approach it? What shall we consider its fundamental element, 
and what its secondary, or resulting element? All these are 
obviously the same questions that have been faced by philosophy 
and that have necessarily divided the philosophers into two great 
camps—that of the materialists and that of the idealists. On the 
one hand, we may imagine persons approaching society in approxi- 
mately the following manner: society consists of persons, who 
think, act, desire, are dominated by ideas, thoughts, “opinions”; 
from which they infer: “opinion dominates the world”; an altera- 
tion of “opinion”, a change in the views of men is the fundamental 
cause of everything that goes on in society; in other words, social 
science must in the first place investigate precisely this phase of 
the matter, namely, the “social consciousness”, the “mind of 
society”. Such would be the idealist standpoint in the social 
sciences. But we have seen above that idealism involves an admis- 
sion of the independence of ideas from the material, and of the 
dependence of these ideas on divine and mysterious springs. It is 
therefore obvious that the idealist point of view involves a down- 
right mysticism, or other tomfoolery, in the social sciences, and 
consequently leads to a destruction of these sciences, to their sub- 
stitution by faith in the acts of God or in some other such con- 
ception. Thus, the French writer Bossuet (in his Reflections on 
Universal History, 1682) declares that history reveals a “divine 
guidance of the human race”; the German idealist philosopher 
Lessing declares that history is an “education of the human race 
by God” ; Fichte states that reason is manifest in history; Schelling, 
that history is a “constant and progressively discovered revelation 
of the Absolute”, in other words, of God. Hegel, the greatest 
philosopher of idealism, defined the history of the world as a 
“rational, necessary evolution (Gang) of the world spirit”. Many 
other such examples could be given, but the above will suffice to 
show how close is the connection between philosophical views and 
those prevailing in the social sciences. 


60 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


The idealist forms of the social sciences and the idealist sociolo- 
gists therefore behold in society, first of all, “the idea” of this 
society; they consider society itself as something psychical, im- 
material; society in their opinion is a great mass of human desires, 
feelings, thoughts, wills, confused in endless combinations; in 
other words, society is social psychology and the social conscious- 
ness is the “mind” of society. 

But society may also be approached from an entirely different 
standpoint. In our discussion of determinism, we found that man’s 
will is not free, that it is determined by the external conditions 
of man’s existence. Is not society also subject to these laws? 
How shall we explain the social consciousness? On what does it 
depend? The mere formulation of these questions brings to mind 
the materialist standpoint in social science. Human society is a 
product of nature. Like the human race itself, it depends on 
nature and may exist only by obtaining its necessities from nature. 
This it does by the process of production. It may not always do 
so consciously ; a conscious process is possible only in an organized 
society, in which everything proceeds according to a plan. In 
unorganized society, the process goes on unconsciously: for ex- 
ample, under capitalism, the manufacturer wishes to obtain more 
profits and therefore increases his production (but not for the 
purpose of affording assistance to human society). The peasant 
produces, in order to provide himself with food, and to sell a 
portion of his production to pay his taxes; the tradesman, in order 
to keep himself above water and establish himself in society; the 
worker, in order not to starve. As a result, the entire society in 
some way continues to muddle along, for better or for worse. 
Material production and its means (“the material productive 
forces’) are the foundation of the existence of human society. 
Without it, there cannot be a “social consciousness”, “mental cul- 
ture”, just as there cannot bea thought without a thinking brain. 
We shall take up this question in detail later on; for the present 
let us consider only the following; let us imagine two human 
societies; one, a society of savages; the other, a society in the 
final stage of capitalism. In the former society, all activities are 
devoted to the immediate securing of foodstuffs, hunting, fishing, 
the gathering of roots, primitive agriculture; of “ideas”, of “‘men- 
tal culture”, etc., there is very little; we are dealing here with 
men that are hardly more than monkeys, tribal animals. In the 
second example, we have a sublime “mental culture”, a great 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 61 


Babylonian confusion of morality; justice, with its countless laws; 
highly evolved, endless sciences, philosophies, religions, and arts, 
from architecture down to fashion plates. And yet, this Baby- 
lonian confusion is of one type where the bourgeoisie rules; it is 
quite different where proletarians rule; different again for the 
peasants, etc. In a word, in this case, as we usually put it, the 
sublime “mental culture’, the “mind” of society, the sum of 
“ideas”, is extremely developed. How was it possible for this 
mind to develop? What were the conditions of its growth? The 
growth of material production, the increase in the power of man 
over nature, the increase in the productivity of human labor. For, 
when not all the available time is consumed in exhausting material 
labor, people are free a portion of the time, which affords them 
an opportunity to think, reason, work with a plan, create a “men- 
tal culture”. As everywhere else, so in society also, matter is the 
mother of mind and not mind the mother of matter; it is not the 
social “mental culture” (“social consciousness”) that produces the 
substance of society, 7.¢., above all, material production, the obtain- 
ing of all kinds of useful objects from nature by society, but it is 
the evolution of this social substance, 7.e., the evolution of material 
production, that creates the foundation for the growth of the so 
called “mental culture”. In other words, the spiritual life of 
society must necessarily depend on the conditions of material pro- 
duction, on the stage that has been attained in the growth of the 
productive forces in human society. The mental life of society 
is a function of the forces of production. What this function is, 
just how the mental life of society grows out of the productive 
forces: that is a subject that will be discussed later. For the 
present we may only observe that this view of society naturally 
makes us consider it mot as an aggregate of all possible kinds of 
opinions, particularly in the domain of the “sublime and beautiful”, 
the “elevated and pure’, but first of all as a working organization 
(Marx sometimes called it a “productive organism’’). 

Such is the materialist point of view in the domain of sociology. 
This point of view, as we know, by no means denies that “ideas” 
have their effects. Marx even said distinctly, in discussing the 
highest stage of consciousness, which is scientific theory: “Every 
theory becomes a force when it secures control over masses.” But 
materialists cannot be satisfied with a mere reference to the fact 
that “people thought so”. They ask: why did people in a certain 
place, at a certain time, “think” so, and “think” otherwise under 


| 


62 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


other conditions? In fact, why do people think such an awful 
lot anyway in “civilized” society, producing whole mountains of 
books and other things, while the savage does not “think” at all? 
We shall find the explanation in the material conditions of the 
life of society. Materialism is therefore in a position to explain 
the phenomena of “mental life” in society, which idealism cannot, 
for idealism imagines “ideas” developing out of themselves, inde- 
pendently of the base earth. For this very reason the idealists, 
whenever they wish to construct any real explanation, are forced 
into resorting to the divine: “This Good”, wrote Hegel in his 
Philosophy of History, “this Reason in its most concrete concep- 
tion, is God; God rules the world; the content of his government 
(Regierung), the execution of his plan, is universal history.” + To 
drag in this poor old man who constitutes perfection, according 
to his worshipers, and who is obliged to create, together with 
Adam, lice and prostitutes, murderers and lepers, hunger and pov- 
erty, syphilis and vodka, as a punishment for sinners whom he 
created and who commit sins by his desire, and to continue playing 
this comedy forever in the eyes of a delighted universe—to drag 
in God is a necessary step for idealist theory. But from the point 
of view of science it means reducing this “theory” to an ab- 
surdity. 

In other words, in the social sciences also, the materialist point 
of view is the correct one. 


The consistent application of the materialist point of view to the 
social sciences is the work of Marx and Engels. In the year (1859) 
in which Marx’s book, A Contribution to the Critique of Political 
Economy, which presents an outline of his sociological theory (the 
theory of historical materialism) appeared, there also appeared the 
principal work of Charles Darwin (Origin of Species), whose author 
maintained and proved that changes in the animal and vegetable king- 
doms are influenced by the material conditions of existence. But it 
by no means follows that the Darwinian laws may be applied without 
further ado to society. We have first to prove the peculiar form in 
which the general laws of natural science are applicable in human 
society, a form characteristic of human society only. Marx bitterly 
derided anyone who failed to understand this; thus he wrote, concern- 
ing the German scholar F. A. Lange: “Herr Lange, it seems, has made 
a great discovery: all history must be sublimated under a single great 
law of nature. This law of nature is the phrase (for in this use, 
Darwin’s expression is a mere phrase), the ‘struggle for life’. Instead 
of analyzing this ‘struggle for life’, which expresses itself historically 
in distinct and varied forms of society, all you need do is to re-christen 
any concrete struggle with the phrase ‘struggle for life’.” (Letter 


1 Philosophie der Geschichte, Reclam edition, page 74. 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 63 


to Kugelmann, June 27, 1870, Die Neue Zett, 1902, vol. 20, pp. 541, 
542. ) 

Of course, Marx had his forerunners, particularly the so called 
Utopian socialists (Saint Simon). But before Marx, the materialist 
standpoint had not been consistently carried out by anyone in a form 
capable of creating a truly scientific sociology. 


c. The Dynamic Point of View and the Relation Between 
Phenomena 


There are two possible ways of regarding everything in nature 
and in society ; in the eyes of some, everything is constantly at rest, 
immutable; “things ever were and ever will be thus”; “there is 
nothing new under the sun.” To others, however, it appears that 
there is nothing unchanging in nature or in society; “all earthly 
things have passed away”; “there is no going back to the past.” 
This second point of view is called the dynamic point of view 
(Greek dynamis, “force”, “motion”); the former point of view 
is called static. Which is the correct position? Is the world an 
immovable and permanent thing, or is it constantly changing, con- 
stantly in motion, different today from yesterday? Even a hasty 
glance at nature will at once convince us that there is nothing 
immutable about it. People formerly considered the moon and 
the stars to be motionless, like golden nails driven into the sky; 
likewise, the earth was motionless, etc. But we now know that 
the stars, the moon, and the earth are dashing through space, 
covering enormous distances. And we also know that the smallest 
particles of matter, the atoms, consist of still smaller particles, 
electrons, flying about and revolving within the atom, as the 
heavenly bodies of the solar system revolve around the sun. But 
the whole world consists of such particles, and how can anything 
be considered constant in a universe whose component parts gyrate 
with whirlwind speed? It was formerly also believed that plants 
and animals were as God created them: ass and asafcetida, bedbug 
and leprosy bacillus, plant-louse and elephant, cuttlefish and 
nettle, all were created by God, in the first days of creation, in 
their present form. We now know that such was not the case. 
The forms of animals and plants are not such as the Lord of 
creation deigned to make them. And the animals and plants now 
living on earth are quite different from those of other days; we 
still find skeletons or impressions in the rock, or remnants in the 
ice, of the huge beasts and plants of bygone ages: gigantic flying 


64 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


beasts covered with scales (pterodactyls), huge horse-tails and 
ferns (whole forests, later petrified into anthracite coal, a remnant 
of the primeval forests of prehistoric days), veritable monsters, 
such as ichthyosauri, brontosauri, iguanadons, etc. All these once 
existed and are now extinct. But we then had no fir-trees, birches, 
cows, or sheep, in a word, “all is changing under our zodiac”. 
What is more, there were no humans, for the latter developed 
from hairy semi-apes not very long ago. We no longer marvel 
at the changes that have taken place in the forms of animals and 
plants. But it should surprise us still less that we ourselves may 
outdo the Almighty in this field: any good swine-herd, by an 
appropriate choice of food and an appropriate mating of male 
and female can continue to produce new races; the Yorkshire hog, 
which is so fat that it cannot walk, is a creature of human effort, 
as is also the pineapple-strawberry, the black rose, and many a 
variety of domestic animals and cultivated plants. Is not man 
himself constantly changing under our very eyes? Does the Rus- 
sian worker of the revolutionary epoch even externally resemble 
the Slavic savage and hunter of bygone days? The race and 
appearance of men are subject to change with everything else in 
the world. 

What is the inference? Evidently, that there is nothing im- 
mutable and rigid in the universe. We are not dealing with rigid 
things, but with a process, The table at which I am writing at 
this moment cannot be considered an immutable thing: it is chang- 
ing from second to second. To be sure, these changes may be 
imperceptible to the human eye or ear. But the table, if it should 
continue to stand for many years would rot away and be trans- 
formed into dust and this would merely be a repetition of all that 
has gone before. Nor would the particles of the table be lost. 
They would assume another form, would be carried away by the 
wind, would become a portion of the soil, serving as a nourish- 
ment for plants, thus being transformed, for instance, into plant 
tissue, etc.; there is therefore a constant change, a constant jour- 
ney, a constant succession of new forms. Matter in motion: such 
is the stuff of this world. It is therefore necessary for the under- 
standing of any phenomenon to study it in its process of origination 
(how, whence, why it came to be), its evolution, its destruction, 
in a word, its motion, and not its seeming state of rest. This 
dynamic point of view is also called the dialectic point of view 
(other traits of dialectics will be treated below). 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 65 


The difference between the dynamic and static point of view is 
already found in the ancient Greek philosophers. The so called Eleatic 
School, headed by Parmenides, taught that everything was immovable. 
According to Parmenides, being is eternal, constant, unchanged, unique, 
uniform, indivisible, homogeneous, immutable, like a round sphere at 
rest. Zeno, an Eleatic philosopher, sought to prove, by means of very 
ingenious observations, that motion was impossible at all. Heraclitus, 
on the other hand, taught that there was nothing that did not move; 
he maintained that “everything flows”, nothing rests (panta ret, mavra 
pel) ; according to Heraclitus, it was impossible to descend twice into 
the same river, for the second time the river would already be a dif- 
ferent river. His associate, Kratylos, was of the opinion that it was 
impossible to bathe evén once in the same river, since the latter was 
constantly changing. Democritus also assumed motion to be the basis 
of all things, specifically, a straight-line motion of atoms. Among 
modern philosophers, Hegel, of whom Marx was a disciple, defended 
motion and beconung (origin, transformation from not-being into 
being) with particular persistence. But, for Hegel, the basis of the 
universe was the movement of mind, while Marx—to use the latter’s , 
own words—turned Hegel’s dialectics upside down, replacing the move- ° 
ment of mind by the movement of matter. In the natural sciences, 
the view still prevailed at the beginning of the Nineteenth Century 
which was expressed by the famous scientist Linneus: ‘“There are as 
many species as the Supreme Being has created.” (Theory of the 
persistence of species.) The most important advocate of the opposite 
view was Lamarck and later, as already indicated, Charles Darwin, 
who finally refuted the old conceptions. 


The world being in constant motion, we must consider phe- 
nomena in their mutual relations, and not as isolated cases. All 
portions of the universe are actually related to each other and 
exert an influence on each other. The slightest motion, the slight- 
est alteration in one place, simultaneously changes everything else. 
The change may be great or small—that is another matter—at any 
rate, there is a change. For example: let us say the Volga forests 
have been cut down by men. The result is that less water is 
retained by the soil, with a resulting partial change in climate; 
the Volga “runs dry,” navigation on its waters becomes more 
difficult, making necessary the use, and therefore the production, 
of dredging machinery; more persons are employed in the manu- 
facture of such machinery; on the other hand, the animals for- 
merly living in the forests disappear; new animals, formerly not 
dwelling in these regions, put in their appearance; the former 
animals have either died out or migrated to forest areas, etc.; and 
we may go even further: with a change in climate, it is clear that 
the condition of the entire planet has been changed, and therefore 
an alteration in the Volga climate to a certain extent changes the 
universal climate. Further, if the map of the world is changed 


66 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


even to the slightest extent, this involves also a change—we must 
suppose—in the relations between the earth and the moon or sun, 
etc., etc. I am now writing on paper with a pen. I thus impart 
pressures to the table; the table presses upon the earth, calling 
forth a number of further changes. I move my hand, vibrate as 
I breathe, and these motions pass on in slight impulses ending 
Lord knows where. The fact that these may be but small changes, 
does not change the essential nature of the matter. All things in 
the universe are connected with an indissoluble bond; nothing 
exists as an isolated object, independent of its surroundings. Of 
course, we are not obliged at every moment to pay attention to 
the universal concatenation of phenomena: a discussion of poultry- 
raising need not always lead us into a discussion of everything else 
at the same time, the sun, the moon, for instance; which would 
be folly, for in this case the universal bond of all phenomena 
would not help us. But in a discussion of theoretical questions 
it is very often necessary for us to bear this relation in mind; 
even in practice it cannot always be ignored. We are in the habit 
of saying that a certain man cannot “see further than his nose’, 
which means that he considers his environment as isolated, as 
having no relation with what lies beyond it. Thus, the peasant 
brings his product to the market, thinking he will make a hand- 
some profit, but suddenly finds prices so low that he hardly recovers 
his outlay. The market binds him together with the other pro- 
ducers; it transpires that so much grain has been produced and 
thrown on the market that only a low price can be obtained. How 
could our peasant make such a mistake? Simply because he did 
not (and could not from his out-of-the-way home) observe his 
relations with the world market. The bourgeoisie, instead of 
becoming richer after the war, found itself facing a revolution 
of the workers, for the reason that this war was connected with 
a number of other things which the bourgeoisie did not under- 
stand. The Mensheviks and the Social-Revolutionaries, the Social- 
Patriots in all countries, declared that the Bolshevik power in 
Russia could not maintain itself for long; the root of their error 
was in the fact that they regarded Russia as an isolated case, 
having no relation with all of Western Europe or with the growth 
of the world revolution, which lends assistance to the Bolsheviks. 
When, in simple parlance, we rightly say that “all the circum- 
stances must be taken into consideration”, what we really mean 
is that a given phenomenon or a given question must be considered 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 67 


with regard to its connections with other phenomena, in its indis- 
soluble union with “all the circumstances”. 

In the first place, therefore, the dialectic method of interpreta- 
tion demands that all phenomena be considered in their tndissoluble 
relations; in the second place, that they be considered in their state 
of motion. 


d. The Historical Interpretation of the Social Sciences 


Since everything in the world is in a state of change, and indis- 
solubly connected with everything else, we must draw the necessary 
conclusions for the social sciences. 

Let us consider human society, which has by no means been 
always the same. A number of very different forms of human 
society are known to us. For instance, in Russia, the working 
class has held power since November, 1917, supported by a portion 
of the peasantry, while the bourgeoisie is being kept within bounds, 
although a part of it (about 2,000,000) has emigrated. The work- 
ers’ state controls the factories, machine shops, railroads. Before 
1917, the bourgeoisie and the landowners were in power, con- 
trolling everything, and the workers and peasants labored for them. 
At a still earlier period, before the so called Liberation of the 
Peasants, in 1861, the bourgeoisie was for the greater part a 
trading class; there were few factories; the landholders ruled the 
peasants like cattle, and had the right to whip them, sell them, 
or exchange them. If we trace the course of bygone centuries, 
we shall find semi-savage nomadic tribes. So slight is the simi- 
larity between these various forms of society that if we should 
be able by a miracle to resuscitate a robust feudal landowner, 
given to whippings and greyhounds, and to bring him—let us say 
—into a meeting of a factory or works committee, or Soviet, the 
poor fellow would probably die of heart-failure at once. 

We are also acquainted with other forms of society. In ancient 
Greece, for example, when Plato and Heraclitus were constructing 
their philosophies, everything was built up on the labor of slaves, 
who were the property of the great slaveholders. In the ancient 
American state of the Incas, there was a regulated and organized 
society dominated by a class of priestly nobles, a sort of intelli- 
gentsia, which controlled and managed everything, and guided the 
national economy, a ruling class superior to all other classes. We 
might give many other examples as evidence of the constant flux 


68 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


in the social structure. Nor does this necessarily mean that the 
human race has constantly improved, i.e., gradually approached 
perfection. We have already pointed out that there have been 
many cases of the destruction of very highly developed human 
societies. Thus, for example, the land of the Greek sages and 
slaveholders passed away. But Greece and Rome at least had an 
enormous influence on the later course of history; they served as 
a fertilizer for history. But it has sometimes happened that entire 
civilizations have disappeared without a trace in other peoples and 
other times. For example, Professor Eduard Meyer writes con- 
cerning the evidences of an ancient civilization discovered in 
France by means of excavations: “We are here dealing with a 
highly developed civilization of primitive men... which was 
subsequently destroyed by a tremendous catastrophe and had no 
influence whatever on future ages. There is no historical relation 
between this paleolithic culture and the beginnings of the neolithic 
epoch.” ? But while we may not always observe growth, there is 
Gclways motion and alteration, though it may end in destruction 
or dissolution. 

Such motion is observed not only in the fact that the social 
system is in process of change; for social life as such is constantly 
changing decisively im all its expressions. The technology of 
society is changing: we need only to compare the stone hatchets 
and spear-heads of ancient times with ‘the steam-hammer; man- 
ners and customs change: for instance, we know that certain races 
of man take pleasure in eating the captives they have taken, which 
even a French imperialist of the present day would not do him- 
self (but he will have his black troops, in the process of serving 
civilization, cut the ears off dead bodies) ; certain tribes had the 
habit of killing their old men or young girls, and this practice was 
considered highly moral and holy. The political system is chang- 
ing: we have seen with our own eyes how the autocracy yielded 
to a democratic republic, then to a Soviet republic; scientific views, 
religion, every-day life and all the relations between these, change; 
even the things we consider essential, fundamental, were by no 
means always as they are, we have not always had newspapers, 
soap, clothing; we have not even always had a state, faith in God, 
capital, firearms. Even the conception of what is beautiful and 
not beautiful is subject to change. The forms of family life are 


2Eduard Meyer: Geschichte des Altertwms, I, 1, second edition, 1910, 
page 247. | 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 69° 


not immutable: we are aware of the existence of polygamy, 
polyandry, monogamy, and “promiscuous cohabitation”. In other 
words, social life suffers constant change together with everything 
else in nature. 

Human society therefore passes through different stages, dif- 
ferent forms, in its evolution or decline. 

It follows, in the first place, that we must consider and investi- 
gate each form of society in its own peculiar terms. We cannot 
throw into a single pot all epochs, periods, social forms. We 
cannot consider under a single head, and recognize no differences 
between, the feudal, the slaveholding, and the proletarian workers’ 
systems of society. We cannot afford to overlook the differences 
between the Greek slaveholder, the Russian feudal landowner, the 
capitalist manufacturer. The slaveholding system is one thing; 
it has its special traits, its earmarks, its special growth. Feudalism 
is another type; capitalism, a third, etc. And communism—the 
communism of the future—also has its special structure. The 
transition period preceding it—the period of proletarian dictator- 
ship, is also a special system. Each such system has peculiar traits 
that require special study. By this means only, can we grasp the 
process of change. For, since each form has its special traits, it 
also must have its special laws of growth, its special laws of 
motion. For instance, Marx says, in Capital, concerning the capi- 
talist system, that the main object of his study is to discover “the 
laws of motion of capitalist society”. For this purpose, Marx 
had to explain all the peculiarities of capitalism, all its character- 
istic traits; only thus could he discover its “law of motion” and 
predict the inevitable absorption of petty production by large- 
scale production, the growth of the proletariat, its collision with 
the bourgeoisie, the revolution of the working class, and, together 
with this, the transition to the dictatorship of the proletariat. 
Most bourgeois historians do not proceed thus. They are inclined 
to confuse the merchants of ancient times with the present-day 
capitalists, the parasite lumpenproletariat of Greece and Rome with 
the proletariat of the present day. This confusion is useful to 
the bourgeoisie in its effort to demonstrate the enduring power of 
capitalism and the futility of the slave uprisings in Rome, from 
which it augurs the futility of present-day proletarian uprisings. 
And yet, the Roman “proletarians” had nothing in common with 
the present-day workers, and the Roman merchants had very little 
similarity with the capitalists of our time. The whole structure 


710 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of life was different. It is therefore easy to see that the course 
of change must then have been different. Marx says: “Every 
historical period has laws of its own. . . . As soon as society has 
outlived a given period of development, and is passing over from 
one given stage to another, it begins to be subject also to other 
laws.” ® For sociology, which is social science in its most general 
form, dealing not with the individual forms of society, but with 
society in general, this law is very important as a guide for the 
specific social sciences, for all of which sociology, as we have seen, 
constitutes a method. 

In the second place, each form must be studied in its internal 
process of change. We are not dealing, first, with a single form 
of social structure, perfect and immutable, and succeeded by an- 
other equal immutable form. In society, it is untrue—for in- 
stance—that capitalism continues throughout its entire period in 
unchanged form, to be succeeded by an equal unchanging socialism. 
As a matter of fact, each specific form is constantly undergoing 
change throughout the period of its existence. It has passed 
through a number of stages in its development: trading capitalism, 
industrial, financial capitalism with its imperialist policy, state capi- 
talism during the world war. Nor did the nature of the case 
remain uniform within each of these stages; it would then have 
been impossible for one stage to yield place to another. Indeed, 
each preceding stage was a preparation for the following stage; 
during the period of industrial capitalism, for example, the process 
of concentration of capital was going on. On this foundation 
financial capital with its trusts and banks was built up. 

In the third place, each form of society must be considered in 
its growth and in its necessary disappearance, i.e., in its relation 
with other forms. No form of society descends from heaven; each 
is a necessary consequence of the preceding social state; often it 
is difficult to discern the boundaries between them, the termination 
of one, the beginning of the other; one period overlaps the other. 
Historical epochs are not rigid and immovable units, like physical 
objects; they are processes, current forms of life, subject to con- 
stant change. In order to trace properly any such form of society 
we must go back to its roots in the past, follow the causes of its 
growth, all the conditions of its formation, the motive forces of 
its development. And it is also necessary to study the causes of 


8 Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i, pp. 22, 23. Chicago, 1915. TRANSLATOR’S 
Note: This quotation is taken by Marx from a paraphrase of his position 
in the words of Professor A. Sieber, of the University of Kiev. 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 71 


its inevitable destruction, the tendencies which rtecessarily involve 
the disappearance of this form and prepare the introduction of 
the next form. Each stage is thus a link in the chain; it is con- 
nected with a link behind it and a link ahead of it. Even though 
bourgeois scholars may admit this fact as far as the past is con- 
cerned, it is impossible for them to grant it with regard to the 
present: capitalism will not perish. They are willing to go so far 
as to trace the roots of capitalism, but they are afraid to think of 
the conditions that lead capitalism to its destruction. “This blind- 
ness constitutes all the wisdom of present-day economists, who 
teach the permanence and harmony of the existing social rela- 
tions.’ * Capitalism evolved from medieval feudal conditions 
owing to the growth of the commodities system. Capitalism is 
passing into communism through the dictatorship of the proletariat. 
Only by tracing the connections of capitalism with the preceding 
system, and its necessary transformation into communism, can 
we understand this form of society. Every other form of society 
must be studied from the same point of view; this is one of the 
demands of the dialectic method, which may also be called “the 
historical point of view’’, since it regards each form of society not 
as permanent, but as an Mustorical stage, appearing at a certain 
moment in history, and similarly disappearing. 


This historicism of Marx has nothing in common with the so called 
“historical school” in jurisprudence and political economy. This reac- 
tionary school finds its principal task in proving the slowness of all 
changes, and in defending any bit of antiquated gossip that is “hal- 
lowed by age”. Heinrich Heine already said concerning this school: 


Beware of that king in Thule, avoid 
The North and its lurking dangers; 
Police, gendarmes, whole historic school— 
You and they are better strangers. 


(Heinrich Heine, Germany: A Winters Tale, Caput xxvi, in Col- 
Ae Works, translated by Margaret Armour, London 1905, vol. xi, 
p. 89). 

To guard the “sacred traditions” is an imperative necessity for the 
bourgeoisie. It is for this reason, particularly, that phenomena that 
owe their origin to a specific historical stage are considered to be 
eternal, to have been handed down by God, and therefore insurmount- 
able. We shall take three examples. 

I. The State. We now know that the state is a class organization, 
that there cannot be a state without classes, that a classless state is a 
round square, that the state could not arise until a certain stage in 


4Karl Marx: Introduction to a Critique of Political Economy, Stuttgart, 
German edition, 1921, p. xvi. 


712 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


human evolution had been reached. But listen to the bourgeois his- 
torians, even the best of them! Eduard Meyer says: “How far the 
formation of organic groups can proceed in the case of animals, I 
often had occasion to observe, thirty years ago, in Constantinople, in 
the case of the street dogs; they were organized in sharply distinct 
quarters, into which they would admit no outside dogs, and every 
evening all the dogs of each quarter gather in an empty lot for a 
meeting of about half an hour, in which they bark loudly. We may 
therefore actually speak of dog states of definite outline in space.” 
(Eduard Meyer: Geschichte des Altertums, vol. i, first half, 3d ed., 
p. 7.) It will therefore not surprise us to find Meyer accepting the 
state as a necessary property of human society. If even dogs have 
states (and therefore, of course, laws, justice, etc.), how could men 
get along without one? 

II. Capital. On this subject the bourgeois economists show the 
same idiosyncrasies. It is well known that capital has not always existed, 
nor capitalism either. Capitalists and workers are a phenomenon of 
historical growth, by no means eternal. But the bourgeois scholars 
always defined capital as if it—and also the capitalist régime—had 
existed from all time. Thus, Torrens wrote: “In the first stone which 
he (the savage) flings at the wild animal he pursues, in the stick that 
he seizes to strike down the fruit which hangs beyond his reach, we 
see the appropriation of one article for the purpose of aiding in the 
acquisition of another, and thus discover the origin of capital.” (Marx: 
Capital, vol. 1, Chicago, 1915, p. 205, footnote.) The monkey beating 
nuts out of a tree is therefore a capitalist (but without workers!). 
Modern economists are not much better; in order to prove the eternity 
of the state power, these poor wretches are obliged to endow their 
dogs with the capacities of Lloyd George and their monkeys with those 
of the Rothschilds! 

Ill. Imperialism. Bourgeois scholars who take up this question 
often define imperialism as the effort at expansion in any form of life. 
Of course, imperialism is the policy of financial capital, and financial 
capital itself did not arise as a dominating economic form until the end 
of the Nineteenth Century. Little the bourgeois scholars care about 
that! In order to show that “things have ever been thus”, they elevate 
the chicken which picks up kernels into an imperialist, since it “an- 
nexes” these kernels! The dog state, the capitalist ape and the im- 
perialist chicken are an excellent indication of the level of modern 
bourgeois science. 


e. The Use of Contradictions in the Historical Process 


The basis of all things is therefore the law of change, the law 
of constant motion. Two philosophers particularly (the ancient 
Heraclitus and the modern Hegel, as we have already seen) formu- 
lated this law of change, but they did not stop there. They also 
set up the question of the manner in which the process operates. 
The answer they discovered was that changes are produced by 
constant internal contradictions, internal struggle. Thus, Hera- 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 73 


clitus declared: “Conflict is the mother of all happenings,” while 
Hegel said: “Contradiction is the power that moves things.” 

There is no doubt of the correctness of this law. A moment’s 
thought will convince the reader. For, if there were no conflict, 
no clash of forces, the world would be in a condition of unchanging, 
stable equilibrium, 7.e., complete and absolute permanence, a state 
of rest precluding all motion. Such a state of rest would be con- 
ceivable only in a system whose component parts and forces would 
be so related as not to permit of the introduction of any conflicts, 
as to preclude all mutual interaction, all disturbances. As we 
already know that all things change, all things are “in flux’’, it is 
certain that such an absolute state of rest cannot possibly exist. 
We must therefore reject a condition in which there is no “con- 
tradiction between opposing and colliding forces”, no disturbance 
of equilibrium, but only an absolute immutability. Let us take 
up this matter somewhat more in detail. 

In biology, when we speak of adaptation, we mean that process 
by which one thing assumes a relation toward another thing that 
enables the two to exist simultaneously. An animal that is 
“adapted” to its environment is an animal that has achieved the 
means of living in that environment. It is suited to its surround- 
ings, its qualities are such as to enable it to continue to live. The 
mole is “adapted” to conditions prevailing under the earth’s sur- 
face; the fish, to conditions in the water ; either animal transferred 
to the other’s environment will perish at once. 

A similar phenomenon may be observed also in so called “inani- 
mate” nature: the earth does not fall into the sun, but revolves 
around it “without mishap’. The relation between the solar 
system and the universe which surrounds it, enabling both to exist 
side by side, is a similar relation. In the latter case we commonly 
speak, not of the adaptation, but of the equilibrium between bodies, 
or systems of such bodies, etc. We may observe the same state 
of things in society. Whether we like it or not, society lives within 
nature: is therefore in one way or another in equilibrium with 
nature. And the various parts of society, if the latter is capable 
of surviving, are so adapted to each other as to enable them to 
exist side by side: capitalism, which included both capitalists and 
workers, had a very long existence! 

In all these examples it is clear that we are dealing with one 
phenomenon, that of equilibrium. This being the case, where do 
the contradictions come in? For there is no doubt that conflict 


74 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


is a disturbance of equilibrium. It must be recalled that such 
equilibrium as we observe in nature and in society is not an abso- 
lute, unchanging equilibrium, but an equilibrium in flux, which 
means that the equilibrium may be established and destroyed, may 
be reestablished on a new basis, and again disturbed. 


The precise conception of equilibrium is about as follows: “We say 
of a system that it is in a state of equilibrium when the system cannot 
of itself, z.e., without supplying energy to it from without, emerge 
from this state.’ If—let us say—forces are at work on a body, 
neutralizing each other, that body is in a state of equilibrium; an 
increase or decrease in one of these forces will disturb the equilib- 
rium. 

If the disturbance of equilibrium is of short duration and the body 
returns to its former position, the equilibrium is termed stable; if this 
does not ensue, the equilibrium is unstable. In the natural sciences we 
have mechanical equilibrium, chemical equilibrium, biological equilib- 
rium. (Cf. H. von Halban: Chemisches Gletchgewicht, in Hand- 
worterbuch der Naturutssenschaften, vol. ii, Jena, 1912, pp. 470-519, 
from which we take the above quotation. ) 


In other words, the world consists of forces, acting in many 
ways, Opposing each other. These forces are balanced for a 
moment in exceptional cases only. We then have a state of “rest”, 
t.e., their actual “conflict” is concealed. But if we change only 
one of these forces, immediately the “internal contradictions” will 
be revealed, equilibrium will be disturbed, and if a new equilibrium 
is again established, it will be on a new basis, 7.e., with a new com- 
bination of forces, etc. It follows that the “conflict”, the ‘“‘con- 
tradiction”’, z.e., the antagonism of forces acting in various direc- 
tions, determines the motion of the system. 

On the other hand, we have here also the form of this process: 
in the first place, the condition of equilibrium; in the second place, 
a disturbance of this equilibrium; in the third place, the reestab- 
lishment of equilibrium on a new basis. And then the story begins 
all over again: the new equilibrium is the point of departure for 
a new disturbance, which in turn is followed by another state of 
equilibrium, etc., ad infinitum, ‘Taken all together, we are dealing 
with a process of motion based on the development of internal 
contradictions. 

Hegel observed this characteristic of motion and expressed it 
in the following manner: he called the original condition of 
equilibrium the thesis, the disturbance of equilibrium the antith- 
esis, the reestablishment of equilibrium on a new basis the syn- 
thesis (the unifying proposition reconciling the contradictions). 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 75 


The characteristic of motion present in all things, expressing itself 
in this tripartite formula (or triad) he called dialectic. 


The word “dialectics” among the ancient Greeks meant the art of 
eloquence, of disputation. The course of a discussion is as follows: 
one man says one thing, another the opposite (“‘negates” what the first 
man said); finally, “truth is born from the struggle”, and includes a 
part of the first man’s statement and a part of the second man’s 
(synthesis). Similarly, in the process of thought. Since Hegel, being 
an idealist, regards everything as a self-evolution of the spirit, he of 
course did not have any disturbances of equilibrium in mind, and the 
properties of thought as a spiritual and original thing ,were therefore, 
in his mind, properties also of being. Marx wrote in this connection: 
“My dialectic method is not only different from the Hegelian, but is 
its direct opposite. To Hegel, the life-process of the human brain, 
t.e., the process of thinking, which, under the name of ‘the Idea’, he 
even transforms into an independent subject, is the demiurgos of the 
real world, and the real world is only the external, phenomenal form 
of ‘the Idea’. With me, on the contrary, the ideal is nothing else than 
the material world reflected by the human mind, and translated into 
forms of thought... . With him (Hegel) it (dialectics) is standing 
on its head. It must be turned right side up again, if you would 
discover the rational kernel within the mystical shell” (Capital, Chi- 
cago, 1915, vol. i, p. 25). For Marx, dialectics means evolution by 
means of contradictions, particularly, a law of “being”, a law of the 
movement of matter, a law of motion in nature and society. It finds 
its expression in the process of thought. It is necessary to use the 
dialectic method, the dialectic mode of thought, because the dialectics 
of nature may thus be grasped. 

It is quite possible to transcribe the “mystical” (as Marx put it) 
language of the Hegelian dialectics into the language of modern 
mechanics. Not so long ago, almost all Marxians objected to the 
mechanical terminology, owing to the persistence of the ancient con- 
ception of the atom as a detached isolated particle. But now that we 
have the Electron Theory, which represents atoms as complete solar 
systems, we have no reason to shun this mechanical terminology. The 
most advanced tendencies of scientific thought in all fields accept this 
point of view. Marx already gives hints of such a formulation (the 
doctrine of equilibrium between the various branches of production, 
the theory of labor value based thereon, etc.). 


Any object, a stone, a living thing, a human society, etc., may 
be considered as a whole consisting of parts (elements) related 
with each other; in other words, this whole may be regarded as 
a system. And no such system exists in empty space; it is sur- 
rounded by other natural objects, which, with reference to it, may 
be called the environment. For the tree in the forest, the environ- 
ment means all the other trees, the brook, the earth, the ferns, 
the grass, the bushes, together with all their properties. Man’s 
environment is society, in the midst of which he lives; the environ- 
ment of human society is external nature. There is a constant 


76 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


relation between environment and system, and the latter, in turn, 
acts upon the environment. We must first of all investigate the 
fundamental question as to the nature of the relations between 
the environment and the system; how are they to be defined; what 
are their forms; what is their significance for their system. Three 
chief types of such relations may be distinguished. 

1. Stable equilibrium. This is present when the mutual action 
of the environment and the system results in an unaltered con- 
dition, or in a disturbance of the first condition which is again re- 
established in the original state. For example, let us consider a 
certain type of animals living in the steppes. The environment 
remains unchanged. The quantity of food available for this type 
of beast neither increases nor decreases; the number of animals 
preying upon them also remains the same; all the diseases, all the 
microbes (for all must be included in the “environment’’), con- 
tinue to exist in the original proportions. What will be the result? 
Viewed as a whole, the number of our animals will remain the 
same; some of them will die or be destroyed by beasts of prey, 
others will be born, but: the given type and the given conditions 
of the environment will remain the same as they were before. 
This means a condition of rest due to an unchanged relation be- 
tween the system (the given type of animals) and the environment, 
which is equivalent to stable equilibrium. Stable equilibrium is 
not always a complete absence of motion; there may be motion, 
but the resulting disturbance is followed by a reestablishment of 
equilibrium on the former basis. The contradiction between the 
environment and the system is constantly being reproduced in the 
same quantitative relation. 

We shall find the case the same in a society of the stagnant type 
(we shall go into this question more in detail later). If the 
relation between society and nature remains the same; i.e., if 
society extracts from nature, by the process of production, pre- 
cisely as much energy as it consumes, the contradiction between 
society and nature will again be reproduced in the former shape; 
the society will mark time, and there results a state of stable 
equilibrium. 

2. Unstable equilibrium with positive (favorable) indication 
(an expanding system). In actual fact, however, stable equi- 
librium does not exist. It constitutes merely an imaginary, some- 
times termed the “ideal”, case. Asa matter of fact, the relation be- 
tween environment and the system is never reproduced in precisely 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 47 


the same proportions; the disturbance of equilibrium never actually 
leads to its reestablishment on exactly the same basis as before, 
but a new equilibrium is created on a new basis. For example, 
in the case of the animals mentioned above, let us assume that the . 
number of beasts of prey opposing them decreases for some reason, 
while the available food increases. There is no doubt that the 
number of our animals would then also increase; our “system” 
will then grow; a new equilibrium is established on a better basis; 
this means growth. In other words, the contradiction between the 
environment and the system has become quantitatively different. 

If we consider human society, instead of these animals, and 
assume that the relation between it and nature is altered in such 
manner that society—by means of production—extracts more 
energy from nature than is consumed by society (either the soil 
becomes more fruitful, or new tools are devised, or both), this 
society will grow and not merely mark time. The new equilibrium 
will in each case be actually new. The contradiction between 
society and nature will in each case be reproduced on a new and 
“higher’’ basis, a basis on which society will increase and develop. 
This is a case of unstable equilibrium with positive indication. 

3. Unstable equilibrium with negative indication (a declining 
system). Now let us consider the quite different case of a new 
equilibrium being established on a “lower” basis. Let us suppose, 
for example, that the quantity of food available to our beasts has 
decreased, or that the number of beasts of prey has for some reason 
increased. Our animals will die out. The equilibrium between 
the system and the environment will in each case be established 
on the basis of the extinction of a portion of this system. The 
contradiction will be reestablished on a new basis, with a negative 
indication. Or, in the case of society, let us assume that the 
relation between it and nature has been altered in such manner 
that society is obliged to consume more and more and obtain less 
and less (the soil is exhausted, technical methods become poorer, 
etc.). New equilibrium will here be established in each case on 
a lowered basis, by reason of the destruction of a portion of society. 
We are now dealing with a declining society, a disappearing sys- 
tem, in other words, with motion having a negative indication. 

Every conceivable case will fall under one of these three heads. 
At the basis of the motion, as we have seen, there is in fact the 
contradiction between the environment and the system, which is 
constantly being reestablished. 


78 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


But the matter has another phase also. Thus far we have spoken 
only of the contradictions between the environment and the sys- 
tem, 1.e., the external contradictions. But there are also internal 
contradictions, those that are within the system. Each system con- 
sists of its component parts (elements), united with each other 
in one way or another. Human society consists of people; the 
forests, of trees and bushes; the pile of stones, of the various 
stones; the herd of animals, of the individual animals, etc. 
Between them there are a number of contradictions, differences, 
imperfect adaptations, etc. In other words, here also there is no 
absolute equilibrium. If there can be, strictly speaking, no abso- 
lute equilibrium between the environment and the system, there 
can also be no such equilibrium between the elements of the 
system itself. 5 

This may be seen best by the example of the most complicated 
system, namely, human society. Here we encounter an endless 
number of contradictions; we find the struggle between classes, 
which is the sharpest expression of “social contradictions’, and 
we know that “the struggle between classes is the motive force of 
history”. The contradictions between the classes, between groups, 
between ideals, between the quantity of labor performed by indi- 
viduals and the quantity of goods distributed to them, the planless- 
ness in production (the capitalist “anarchy” in production), all 
these constitute an endless chain of contradictions, all of which 
are within the system and grow out of its contradictory structure 
(“structural contradictions”). But these contradictions do not of 
themselves destroy society. They may destroy it (if, for example, 
both opposing classes in a civil war destroy each other), but it is 
also possible they may at times not destroy it. 

In the latter case, there will be an unstable equilibrium between 
the various elements of society. We shall later discuss the nature 
of this equilibrium; for the present we need not go into it. But 
we must not regard society stupidly, as do so many bourgeois 
scholars, who overlook its internal contradictions. On the con- 
trary, a scientific consideration of society requires that we consider 
it from the point of view of the contradictions present within it. 
Historical “growth”? is the development of contradictions. 

We must again point out a fact with which we shall have to deal 
more than once in this book. We have said that these contradic- 
tions are of two kinds: between the environment and this system, 
and between the elements of the system and the system itself. Is 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 79 


there any relation between these two phenomena? A moment’s 
thought will show us that such a relation exists. 

It is quite clear that the internal structure of the system (its 
internal equilibrium) must change together with the relation exist- 
ing between the system and its environment. The latter relation is 
the decisive factor; for the entire situation of the system, the 
fundamental forms of its motion (decline, prosperity, or stagna- 
tion) are determined by this relation only. 

Let us consider the question in the following form: we have seen 
above that the character of the equilibrium between society and 
nature determines the fundamental course of the motion of society. 
Under these circumstances, could the internal structure continue 
for long to develop in the opposite direction? Of course not. In 
the case of a growing society, it would not be possible for the 
internal structure of society to continue constantly to grow worse. 
If, in a condition of growth, the structure of society should become 
poorer, 1.é., its internal disorders grow worse, this would be equiva- 
lent to the appearance of a new contradiction: a contradiction 
between the external and the internal equilibrium, which would 
require the society, if it is to continue growing, to undertake a 
reconstruction, 7.e., its internal structure must adapt itself to the 
character of the external equilibrium. Consequently, the internal 
(structural) equilibrium is a quantity which depends on the ex- 
ternal equilibrium (is a “function” of this external equilibrium). 


f. The Theory of Cataclysmic Changes and the Theory of Revo- 
lutionary Transformations in the Social Sciences 


We have now to consider the final phase of the dialectic method, 
namely, the theory of sudden changes. No doubt it is a widespread 
notion that “nature makes no sudden jumps” (natura non factt 
saltus). This wise saying is often applied in order to demonstrate 
“irrefutably” the impossibility of revolution, although revolutions 
have a habit of occurring in spite of the moderation of our friends 
the professors. Now, is nature really so moderate and considerate 
as they pretend? 

In his Science of Logic (Wissenschaft der Logik *), Hegel says: 
“Tt is said that there are no sudden changes in nature, and the 
common view has it (meint) that when we speak of a growth or a 
destruction (Entstehen oder Vergehen), we always imagine a 


5 Hegels Werke, 2d ed., vol. iii, p. 434 (German original). 


80 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


gradual growth (Hervorgehen) or disappearance (Verschwinden). 
Yet we have seen cases in which the alteration of existence (des 
Seins) involves not only a transition from one proportion to 
another, but also a transition, by a sudden leap, into a quantita- 
tively, and, on the other hand, also qualitatively different thing 
(Anderswerden) ; an interruption of the gradual process (ein 
Abbrechen des Allmiéhlichen), differing qualitatively from the 
preceding, the former, state” (the italics are mine.—N. B.). 

Hegel speaks of a transition of quantity into quality; there 1s 
a very simple illustration of such a transition. If we should heat 
water, we should find that throughout the process of heating, before 
a temperature of 100° C. (212° F.) is reached, the water will not 
boil and turn into steam. Portions of the water will move faster 
and faster, but they will not bubble on the surface in the form of 
steam. The change thus far is merely quantitative; the water 
moves faster, the temperature rises, but the water remains water, 
having all the properties of water. Its quantity is changing 
gradually; its quality remains the same. But when we have heated 
it to 100° C., we have brought it to the “boiling-point”. At once 
it begins to boil, at once the particles that have been madly in 
motion burst apart and leap from the surface in the form of little 
explosions of steam. The water has ceased to be water ; it becomes 
steam, a gas. The former quality is lost; we now have a new 
quality, with new properties. We have thus learned two important 
peculiarities in the process of change. 

In the first place, having reached a certain stage in motion, the 
quantitative changes call forth qualitative changes (or, in more 
abbreviated form, “quantity becomes quality’’) ; in the second place, 
this transition from quantity to quality is accomplished in a sud- 
den leap, which constitutes an interruption in the gradual con- 
tinuous process. The water was not constantly changing, with 
gradual deliberateness, into a little steam at a time, with the 
quantity of steam constantly increasing. For a long time it did not 
boil at all. But having reached the “boiling-point”, it began to 
boil. We must consider this a sudden change. 

The transformation of quantity into quality is one of the funda- 
mental laws in the motion of matter; it may be traced literally at 
every step both in nature and society. Hang a weight at the end 
of a string, and gradually add slight additional weights, each 
weight being as small as you like; up to a certain limit, the string 
“will hold”. But once this limit has been exceeded, it will sud- 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 81 


denly break. Force steam into a boiler; all will go well for a 
while; only the pressure indicator will show increases in the 
pressure of the steam against the walls of the boiler. But when the 
dial has exceeded a certain limit, the boiler will explode. The 
pressure of the steam exceeded—perhaps by a very little—the 
power of resistance offered by the walls of the boiler. Before 
this moment, the quantitative changes had not led to a “cataclysm”, 
to a qualitative change, but at that “point” the boiler exploded. 

Several men are unable to lift a stone. Another joins them; 
they are still unable to do it. A weak old woman joins them—and 
their united strength raises the stone. Here, but a slight additional 
force was needed, and as soon as this force was added the job was 
done. Let us take another example. Leo Tolstoi wrote a story 
called ‘Three Rolls and a Cookie”. The point of the story is 
the following: a man, to appease his hunger, ate one roll after 
another, for each still left him hungry; in fact, after his third roll, 
he was still hungry; then he ate a little cookie, and his hunger 
was appeased. He then cursed his folly for not having eaten the 
cookie first: for then he would not have had to eat the rolls. Of 
course, we are aware of his mistake; we are dealing here with a 
qualitative change, the transition from the feeling of hunger to 
that of satiation, which transition was accomplished in one bound 
(after eating the cookie). But this qualitative difference ensued 
after the quantitative differences: the cookie would have been of no 
use without the rolls. 

We thus find that it is foolish to deny the existence of sudden 
changes, and to admit only a deliberate gradual process. Sudden 
leaps are often found in nature, and the notion that nature permits 
of no such violent alterations is merely a reflection of the fear of 
such shifts in society, i.¢e., of the fear of revolution. 


It is a characteristic fact that the earlier theories of the bourgeoisie, 
touching the question of the creation of the universe, were catastrophic 
theories, though naive and wrong ones. Such, for instance, was 
Cuvier’s theory. This was displaced by the evolution theory, which 
introduced many new elements, but one-sidedly denied cataclysmic 
changes. Of such nature are the works of Lyell (Principles of 
Geology) in the field of geology. But at the end of the last century 
there again arose a theory which recognized the importance of sudden 
changes. For instance, the botanist De Vries (the so called mutation 
theory) maintained that from time to time, on the basis of previous 
changes, sudden alterations of form ensue, which later fortify them- 
selves and become the starting points of new courses of evolution. 
The older views, which were hostile to “sudden changes”, are now no 


82 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


longer sufficient. Such notions (Leibnitz, for instance, says: “Every- 
thing in nature goes step by step, never by leaps and bounds”—+tout 
va par degrés dans la nature et rien par saut) evidently arose on a 
conservative social soil. 

The denial of the contradictory character of evolution by 
bourgeois scholars is based on their fear of the class struggle and on 
their concealment of social contradictions. Their fear of sudden 
changes is based on their fear of revolution; all their wisdom is 
contained in the following reasoning: there are no violent changes 
in nature, there cannot be any such violent changes anywhere; 
therefore, you proletarians, do not dare make a revolution! Yet 
here it becomes exceptionally evident that bourgeois science is in 
contradiction with the most fundamental requirements of all 
science. Everybody knows that there have been many revolutions 
in human society. Will anyone deny that there was an English 
Revolution, or a French Revolution, or a Revolution of 1848, or 
the Revolution of 1917? If these violent changes have taken place 
in society, and are still taking place, science should not “deny” 
them, refusing to recognize facts, but should understand these 
sudden shifts, and explain them. 

Revolutions in society are of the same character as the violent 
changes in nature. They do not suddenly “fall from the sky”. 
They are prepared by the entire preceding course of development, 
as the boiling of water is prepared by the preceding process of 
heating or as the explosion of a steam-boiler is prepared by the in- 
creasing pressure of the steam against its walls. A revolution in 
society means its reconstruction, “a structural alteration of the sys- 
tem”. Such a revolution is an inevitable consequence of the con- 
tradictions between the structure of society and the demands for 
its development. We shall discuss the nature of this process below. 
For the present we need only to know the following: in society, as 
in nature, violent changes do take place; in society, as in nature, 
these sudden changes are prepared by the preceding course of 
things; in other words, in society as in nature, evolution (gradual 
development) leads to revolution (sudden change): “The violent 
changes presuppose a preceding evolution, and the gradual changes 
lead to violent changes. These are two necessary factors in a single 
process.” ® 

The contradictory nature of evolution, the question of cataclysmic 
changes, is one of the most essential theoretical questions. Though a 

6 Plekhanov: Criticism of Our Critics (in Russian), 1906 edition, p. 104. 


DIALECTIC MATERIALISM 83 


great number of bourgeois schools and tendencies oppose teleology and 
favor determinism, etc., they nevertheless stumble on these questions. 
The Marxian theory is not a theory of evolution but of revolution. 
For this very reason it is inacceptable to the ideologists of the bour- 
geoisie, and they are therefore ready to ‘‘accept” the whole theory 
except its revolutionary dialectics. Objections to Marxism usually 
assume the same form. Thus, Werner Sombart, a German professor, 
treats Marx with great respect where evolution is involved, but at once 
attacks him as soon as he scents theoretically the revolutionary elements 
of Marxism. Entire theories are even built up, showing that Marx 
was a scholar in his evolutionary point of view, but ceased to be a 
scholar when he became—even theoretically—a revolutionist; he then 
leaves the sphere of science and gives himself up to revolutionary 
passions. P. Struve, once a Marxian, author of the first manifesto of 
the Russian Social-Democracy, a man later metamorphosized into a 
protagonist of pogroms and a prime counter-revolutionary ideologist, 
also began by attacking Marxism in its theory of cataclysmic changes. 
Plekhanov, then a revolutionist, wrote: “Mr. Struve wants to show 
us that nature makes no sudden leaps, and that the intellect (reason) 
will not bear such leaps. The fact is, Struve means his own intellect, 
which indeed tolerates no leaps, for the simple reason, as is said, that 
he cannot bear a certain dictatorship.’ (The italics are Plekhanov’s; 
Criticism of Our Critics, p. 99.) The so called “organic school”, the 
Positivists, Spencerians, evolutionists, etc., all oppose cataclysmic 
changes because they cannot bear a “certain dictatorship”. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


As with chapters i and ii, adding the following: Deborin: Intro- 
duction to the Philosophy of Dialectic Materialism (in Russian). G. 
Plekhanov (N. Beltov) : Criticism of Our Critics (in Russian). Karl 
Marx: Introduction to a Critique of Political Economy, Chicago, 1913. 
G. Plekhanov: Fundamenial Problems of Marxism (translated). J. 
Berman: Dialectics in the Light of the Modern Theory of Cognition 
(in Russian; not orthodox, but critical). A. Bogdanov: General 
Science of Organization (in Russian; an ingenious attempt to dispense 
with philosophy). L. Orthodox (Axelrod): Philosophical Sketches 
(in Russian). Karl Kautsky: Anti-Bernstein (in German). N. 
Bukharin: The Economic Theory of the Leisure Class (chapter one). 
The critical literature written in opposition to dialectic materialism is 
exceedingly voluminous. The most important Russian writers in this 
field are Kareyev and Tugan-Baranovsky (The Theoretical Founda- 
tions of Marxism). 


PV SOCIETY, 
a. Concept of Aggregates; Logical and Real Aggregates 


WE encounter not only simple bodies, which at once impress us 
as constituting units (for example, a sheet of paper, a cow, John 
Smith), but also meet with compound units, intricate quantities. 
When considering the movement of the population, we may say: 
the number of male infants born within a certain interval of time 
has increased so much. We then regard this “number of male 
infants” as a total quantity, existing apart from the various units, 
and considered as a unit in itself (a “statistical aggregate”). We 
also speak of a forest, a class, human society, and at once find 
that we are dealing with compound quantities: we regard these 
quantities as individual quantities, but we likewise know that these 
wholes consist of elements having a certain degree of independence: 
the forest consists of trees, bushes, etc.; the class, of the various 
persons constituting it, etc. Such composite quantities are called 
aggregates. 

From the examples given above we may learn, however, that 
aggregates may be of various kinds: when we speak of the male 
infants born in a certain year, and when we speak of the town 
forest, it is clear that there is a difference between the two. In 
the one case, that of the male infants, we know that these indi- 
viduals are not found together in life, in actual reality: one is in 
one place and another in another; none has any influence on an- 
other; each is for himself. It is we who are combining them 
when we add them up. It is we who make the aggregation: this 
is a mental aggregate, a paper aggregate, not a living or real ag- 
gregate. Such artificial aggregates may be called imaginary or 
logical aggregates. But when we speak of society, or of a forest, 
or of a class, the case is quite different; here the union of the 
component elements is not only a mental (logical) union. For 
we have before us the forest, with its trees, bushes, grass, etc., 
which surely constitutes an actual living whole. The forest is 
not merely a summation of its various elements. All these ele- 
ments are continually interacting one upon the other, in other 


84 


SOCIETY 85 


words, they are in a state of constant mutual interaction. Cut 
down some of the trees, and perhaps the others will wither by 
reason of the subsequent decrease in moisture, or perhaps they 
will grow better because they can get more sun. We are here 
clearly dealing with an interaction of the parts making up “the 
forest”, and the interaction here is a perfectly real one, existing 
in fact, not imagined by us for one purpose or another. Further- 
more: this interaction is of long duration and constant, being 
present as long as the whole continues to exist. Such aggregates 
are called real aggregates. 


All these differences are conditional. Strictly speaking, there are 
no simple units. John Smith is in reality a whole colony of cells, 
1.¢., he is a highly complicated body. We have seen that even the atom 
may be subdivided. And as (in principle) there are no limits of 
divisibility, so there are ultimately no uniform units. Nevertheless, 
our distinctions may hold within certain limits: an individual human 
is an individual body and not a totality, when compared with society; 
but he is a composite body, a real aggregate, when compared with the 
cell, etc. If we wish to speak in a non-comparative way, we make use 
of the term system. System and real aggregate are identical terms. 
The conditional nature of all these distinctions may be shown in 
another way also: strictly speaking, the entire universe is an infinite 
real aggregate, all the particles of which are in process of constant 
and uninterrupted interaction. We thus have an interaction between 
all the objects and elements of the universe, but this interaction is in 
some cases more or less direct, in some cases more or less indirect. 
Hence our distinctions, as made above; they hold good—as we have 
said—when understood dialectically, 7.e., within certain bounds, con- 
ditionally, according to circumstances. 


b. Society as a Real Aggregate or a System 


Let us now view society from this standpoint. There is no 
doubt that society constitutes a real aggregate, for there is a con- 
stant uninterrupted process of mutual interaction between its vari- 
ous parts. Mr. Smith went to the market; there he traded, ex- 
erted an influence on the formation of the market price, which in 
turn influenced the world market, perhaps in an infinitesimal 
degree, but nevertheless it was an influence on world prices; the 
latter, in turn, influence the market of the country in which Mr. 
Smith lives, and the little market which he frequents; on the other 
hand, let us say he buys a herring at the market; this will have 
an influence on his budget, for it will make him spend the rest of 
his money in a certain way, etc., etc. Thousands of such little 
influences could thus be enumerated. Mr. Smith gets married; 


86 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


for this purpose he has bought a number of presents and thus has 
exerted economic influence on other persons. Being an orthodox 
Christian, and not a Bolshevik, he calls in the priest and thus 
strengthens the Church organization, and this act will have its 
effect in little waves on the influence of the Church, and on the 
entire system of feelings and tendencies in the given society; he 
has paid money to the priest, and thus has increased the demand 
for the commodities demanded by priests, etc. His wife bears 
him children, and this in turn produces thousands of consequences. 
It is easy to see that many persons are influenced, in however slight 
a degree, by the fact of John Smith’s marriage. Mr. Smith 
enters the Liberal Party in order to do his “duty as a citizen”. 
He begins to attend meetings, together with hundreds like him, 
to experience the same feelings of hatred for the cursed rascals 
who loaf about the streets and support those children of Satan, 
the Bolsheviks. Their influence, at the meetings, touches and 
moves, either directly or indirectly, a great number of persons. 
To be sure, this influence may be difficult to ascertain but, no 
matter how small it may be, it yet exists. And no matter what 
branch of activity our Mr. Smith might enter, you would always 
observe that he had an influence on others; as well as others on 
him. For in society, all things are united by millions of little 
threads. ) 

We have begun with the individual man, and shown his influ- 
ence on others. But we might just as well begin with the manner 
in which society acts on him. ‘There is a great industrial boom, 
and the concern for which Smith is working as chief bookkeeper 
is making more profits; Mr. Smith gets a little “raise”. War 
breaks out; Mr. Smith is enlisted, defends the fatherland of his 
employers (he is convinced he is defending civilization) and is 
killed in the war. Such is the power of social relations. 

If we picture to ourselves the immense number of mutual in- 
teractions existing in human society, if only in our day, we shall 
find a magnificent picture taking shape before us. Some of these 
relations are of crude elemental force; they are not regulated in 
any way, or by any person; the interactions of persons on one 
another are countless in their expressions. But there are also 
many more or less regulated and organized forms, from gov- 
ernment authority down to the chess club and the bald-headed 
men’s society. If we consider that all these countless interactions 
are constantly intersecting each other, we shall understand how 


SOCIETY 87 


truly tremendous is the Babylonian confusion of influences and 
mutual interactions in social life. 

Wherever there is a mutual interaction of long duration, we 
have a real aggregate, a “system”. But we must point out the 
fact that a real aggregate or system is by no means necessarily 
characterized by a conscious organization of the parts of this 
system, and this statement is true both of animate nature and of 
inanimate nature, both of “mechanisms” and of “organisms”. 
Some persons go so far as to deny the very existence of society 
because there are other systems existing within society (classes, 
groups, parties, circles, organizations of various kinds, etc., etc.). 
But there is no doubt of the mutual interaction of these systems 
and groups within society (struggles between classes and parties, 
moments of cooperation, etc.) ; furthermore, the persons consti- 
tuting these groups may be influencing the remaining persons in 
other connections in an entirely different way (the capitalist and 
the worker, who purchases from the same capitalist goods for his 
own consumption). Furthermore, these groups—in the mutual 
interactions between them—are not organized; we here have an 
elemental social product; a “social resultant” (see our discussion 
of determinism, in chapter i1) is nevertheless obtained in this 
unorganized and elemental process (which will continue until a 
communist society is realized). Yet, there is such a social “prod- 
uct”. It exists; it is an irrefutable fact of reality; world prices 
are a definite fact ; so are world literature, or world routes of com- 
merce, or world war; these facts are sufficient to show that 
human society, embodied in the systems of the various nations, 
really does exist at the present time. 

In general, whenever we have a sphere of constant mutual in- 
teraction, we also have a special system, a special real aggregate. 
The broadest system of mutual interactions, embracing all the 
more permanent interactions between persons, 1s society. 


We define society as a real aggregate, or as a system of interactions, 
rejecting all the attempts of the so called “organic school” to interpret 
society in terms of an organism. 

The official object of the “organic” theory is perfectly expressed in 
the fable of Menenius Agrippa, a Roman patrician who used the fol- 
lowing “organic” arguments to conciliate the rebellious Plebeians: the 
hands may not rebel against the head, for otherwise the entire human 
body would be ruined. The social interpretation of the organic theory 
is the following: the ruling class is the head; the workers, or slaves, 
are the arms and legs; as arms and legs may not in nature replace the 
head, it is well for subordinates to hold their peace! 


88 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


This wise humility on the part of the organic theory has made it 
quite popular among the bourgeoisie. The “founder” of sociology, 
Auguste Comte, considered society as a collective organism (organisme 
collectif) ; Herbert Spencer, the most popular of bourgeois sociologists, 
considered society to be something self-organic, without consciousness 
to be sure, but possessing organs, tissues, etc. René Worms even 
endows society with consciousness, as in the case of the individual, 
and Lilienfeld declares outright that society is an organism as much 
as a crocodile or the inventor of this theory. No doubt society has 
much in common with an organism; but it also has much in common 
with a mechanism. ‘These traits, precisely, are the traits of any true 
totality, any system. But as we have no intention to take up such 
childish problems as to what constitutes the liver or the vermiform 
appendix of society, or what social phenomena are equivalent to ulcers, 
we shall not dwell on this point at all, the more since the adherents 
of the organic theory seem themselves to be ready to fall into the arms 
of mysticism, and to reconstruct society as a huge fabulous beast. 


Society thus exists as a true aggregate of the persons compos- 
ing it, as a system of mutually interacting elements. As we have 
seen, the number of mutual interactions in this system is endless. 
But the very existence of society suggests that all these number- 
less forces, acting in the most various directions, do not constitute 
a mere insane whirl, but move, as it were, through certain chan- 
nels, in obedience to an internal law. If there were an outright 
and complete chaos, there would be no possibility of even an 
unstable equilibrium in society, in other words, there would be no 
society at all. We have discussed above the question as to the 
law of human actions, from the point of view of the individual 
(see chapter ii). We*now take up the question from the other 
side, from the point of view of society and the conditions of its 
equilibrium. The result, however, is the same; we are brought 
to recognize the regularity of the social process. It is easiest to 
discover this uniformity in the social process by an investigation 
of the conditions of social equilibrium. But before proceeding 
to this subject, we must dwell more in detail on the nature of 
society itself. It is not enough to say that it is a system of 
mutually interacting persons, or that this system is in force over 
a long period. It is necessary to explain the nature of this sys- 
tem, how it is distinguished from other systems, what is its neces- 
sary condition of life, and its necessary condition of equilibrium. 


c. The Character of the Social Relations 


The mutual interaction between persons, which constitutes so- 
cial phenomena, is quite various. What is the condition for the 


SOCIETY 89 


permanence of these relations? In other words, where is the 
basic condition of equilibrium for the whole system, among all 
these interactions? What is the basic typeof social relation with- 
out which all other types would be inconceivable? 

The basic social relation is that ofabor,-as-expressed chiefly in 
social labor, 1.e., in the conscious or unconscious work performed 
by people for each other. This becomes clear at once from an 
assumption of the opposite. Let us assume for a moment that 
the labor relation between persons should be destroyed, that prod- 
ucts (goods) should not be transmitted from one place to another, 
that people should cease working for each other, that social labor 
should lose its social character. The result would be the disap- 
pearance of society, which would fly into a thousand pieces. Or, | 
to take another example: Christian missionaries are sent to tropical 
countries to preach a knowledge of God and the Devil. These © 
missionaries thus establish the so called higher intellectual rela- 
tions. Would it be possible for these relations to endure between 
the country from which these gentlemen have set forth and the 
“savages” to whom they are sent, if there were no frequent 
steamers, no regular (as opposed to casual) exchange, 1.¢., if no 
working relations should be established between the “civilized” 
countries and the home of the “savages”? All such relations can 
only be permanent when they are of the nature of working rela- 
tions. The bond of labor is the fundamental condition for the 
possibility of an internal equilibrium in the system of human 
society. 

We may also approach this question from another side. No 
system, including that of human society, can exist in empty space; 
it is surrounded by an “environment”, on which all its conditions 
ultimately depend. If human society is not adapted to its environ- 
ment, it is not meant for this world; all its culture will inevitably 
pass away; society itself will be reduced to dust. Thinking as 
hard as they can, none of the idealist professors can offer the 
slightest proof in opposition to our assertion that all the life of 
society, the very question of its life or death, depends on the re- 
lation between society and its environment, 7.e,, nature. We have 
spoken of this above, and may consider the subject disposed of. 
The social relation between men which most clearly and directly 
expresses this relation to nature is the relation of work. Work 
is the process of contact between society and nature. By work, 
energy is transferred from nature to society; and it is on this 


90 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


energy that society lives and develops (if it develops at all). 
Labor is also an active adaptation to nature. In other words, the 
process of production is a fundamental living process of society. 
Consequently, the labor relation is a fundamental social relation. 
Or, in the words of Marx, “we must seek the anatomy of society 
in its economy’’,? 7.e., the structure of society is its Jabor structure 
(‘its economic structure”). Consequently, our definition of so- 
ciety will read: society is the broadest system of mutually inter- 
lacting persons, embracing all their permanent mutual interactions, 
‘and based upon their labor relations. 
| We have thus arrived at a completely materialist view of soci- 
ety. The basis of its structure is a working relation, just as the 
basis of life is the material process of production. 

The following objection is often raised: “If things are as you 
say, how are the labor relations established? Do not people speak 
together, think together, in the process of labor? Is the labor 
relation then not a psychic, a spiritual relation? Where is your 
materialism now? What do all your labor and your labor rela- 
tions amount to, if not to psychological relations?” 

This question is worth going into, in order that future mis- 
understandings may be avoided. Let us begin with a simple ex- 
ample, that of a factory at work. In the factory there are un- 
skilled workers and various types of skilled workers; some are 
working at certain machines, some at others; in addition, there 
are foremen, engineers, etc. Marx describes the condition as 
follows in his Capital:* “The essential division is, into workmen 
who are actually employed on machines (among whom are in- 
cluded a few who look after the engine) and into mere attendants 
(almost exclusively children) of these workmen. Among the 
attendants are reckoned more or less, ‘feeders’ who supply the 
machines with the material to be worked. In addition to these 
two principal classes, there is a numerically unimportant class of 
persons, whose occupation it is to look after the whole machinery 
and repair it from time to time; such as engineers, mechanics, 
joiners, etc.” Such are the labor relations between the people in 
the factory. What is the prime nature of these relations? In 
the fact that each person is occupied with “his own job”, but his 
job is only a part of the whole. The individual worker is there- 
fore stationed at a certain place, goes through a certain motion, 


1 Contribution to a Critique of Political Economy. 
2 Chicago, Charles H. Kerr Company, 1915, vol. 1, p. 459. 


SOCIETY 91 


has a certain material contact with things and with other workers, 
uses up a certain quantity of material energy. All these relations 
are material, physical relations. Of course, they may have their 
“psychological” side; people think, exchange thoughts, converse, 
etc. But these activities will be determined by their distribution 
in the factory building, by the machines at which they are sta- 
tioned, etc. In other words, they are distributed through the 
factory as distinct physical bodies; they are therefore in certain 
physical, material relations in time and in space. Such is the 
material, working organization of the workers in a factory, which 
Marx calls the “collective worker’; we are now dealing with a 
material human working system. When in operation, we have the 
process of material labor; men give out energy, and turn out a 
material product. This is also a material process, also having its 
“psychological” aspect. 

What we have just observed in the factory is also applicable 
on a more intricate and far vaster scale in human society as a 
whole. For all of society constitutes a peculiar human working 
apparatus, in which the overwhelming majority of persons or 
groups of persons occupy a certain place in the working process. 
For instance, in present-day society, which includes all of so called 
“civilized mankind”, and perhaps even more, wheat, as we have 
seen, is chiefly produced in certain countries; cacao, in certain 
other countries; metal products, in still another group of coun- 
tries, etc. And within the various countries, certain factories 
produce one group of products, other factories other products. 
All these workers, peasants, colonial slaves, and even the engi- 
neers, Overseers, foremen, organizers, etc., who are placed in the 
various corners of the earth, distributed over the various quarters 
of the globe, are all actually, although perhaps not consciously, 
working for each other. And when masses of commodities pass 
from one country to another, from factory to market, from market 
through tradesman to consumer, all this constitutes a material 
bond between all these persons. They are a part of the material 
skeleton, the working apparatus of a single social life. When we 
read of the life of the bees, we do not consider it remarkable to 
find the writer beginning with the discussion of the kinds of bees, 
the work they perform, the relations between them, both in time 
and in space, in a word, the material working apparatus of the 
“society of the bees”. No one would think of considering the 
bees as a psychical aggregate, a “spiritual brotherhood”, although 


92 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


he might speak of the instincts and the psychic life of the bees, 
of their “manners and customs’, etc. But man, with his divine 
nature, must not be subjected to the same treatment as the bees! 

It is self-evident that psychical interactions of the most varied 
kinds are inestimably more numerous in human society than even 
in a herd of the most highly developed apes. The “mind” of 
human society, i.¢., all its psychic interactions, are as far superior 
to the “mind” of the herd of apes, as the mind of the individual 
man is superior to the mind of the individual ape. But the in- 
finitely varied, complicated, exceptionally rich patterns of these 
mental and spiritual inter-relations, presenting all the colors of the 
rainbow, and constituting the “mind” of present-day society, also 
have their “body”, without which they cannot exist, any more 
than the mind of the individual man can exist without his sinful 
earthly body. This “body” is the labor skeleton, the system of 
material relations between persons in the process of labor, or, as 
Marx puts it, the production relations. 


Sentimental petty bourgeois dames may think it “terrible” to explain 
the divine fragrance of the narcissus as due to an excitation of so 
prosaic an organ as the nasal mucous membrane; and these ladies 
are not much different from most bourgeois scholars. Some of the 
latter will venture to deride the “organic theory”, as does an Italian 
professor. A. Loria, who plagiarized Marx and could not digest him: 
“The German scholar Schaffle goes to grotesque lengths in his enumera- 
tion of social strata, organs, segments, blood vessels, motor centers, 
nerves, and ganglia; but the other sociologists of the same school are 
not much more moderate than he. They have already gone so far as 
to describe the social thigh, the social solar plexus, the social lungs. 
They already point to the vascular system of society, represented by the 
savings banks. A professor at the Sorbonne describes the clergy as a 
fatty nervous tissue. Another sociologist compares the nerve fibers 
with telegraph wires, and the human brain with a central telegraph 
office. . . . One writer goes so far as to distinguish male nations from 
female nations. In his opinion, the conquering states are males, who 
subjugate the defeated nations; while the defeated nations ... are 
female nations.” (Achille Loria: Die Soziologie, Jena, 1901, p. 39.) 
This is all very well, but even the best of the bourgeois scholars become 
quite timid when they reach the confines of materialism. Professor 
E. Durkheim, in his book “On the Division of Labor”, having em- 
phasized the conception of “moral density” (by which he means the 
frequency and intensity of psychical interactions between men), goes 
on to say: “The moral density cannot become greater unless the mate- 
rial density simultaneously becomes greater” (la densité morale ne 
peut donc s’accroitre sans que la densité matérielle s'accroisse en méme 
temps ...). This simply means that the “mental turnover” between 
men is based on the “material turnover”, 7.e., the density and frequency 
of the material, physical interactions is the condition for the corre- 
sponding density and frequency of their mental interactions. After 


SOCIETY 93 


making this correct statement, M. Durkheim is frightened at having 
expressed so materialist a thought and beats a retreat: “But it is use- 
less (!!) to attempt to show which of the two phenomena determines 
the other; it is sufficient to have stated that they are indissoluble.” 
(E. Durkheim: De la division du travail social, Paris 1893, p. 283.) 
Useless, I suppose, because people are afraid to appear in decent 
bourgeois society as materialists. 

Most modern bourgeois sociologists consider societv to be a certain 
psychical system, a psychical “organism”, or the like, which is quite in 
accord with the idealist view of the universe. The fundamental error 
of these theories is in their separating ‘‘mind” from “matter”, and then 
declaring this “mind” to be incapable of explanation, 1.e., their deifying 
it. In some societies, the psychical interactions are different from 
those of other societies. For instance, in the reign of Nicholas I, 
there was a “spirit” of police violence, of subjection under the Czar’s 
might, love of the traditional, while Soviet Russia presents something 
quite different, 7.e., the psychical interrelations have become altogether 
different. Psychological theories of society cannot explain this differ- 
ence; here again the only scientific conception is that of materialism 
(Marx speaks of an “organism of production”; cf. Capital, vol. iii). 


d. Society and Personality; Precedence of Society over the 
Individual 


Society consists of individual persons; it could not exist without 
them, as we may assume without further discussion. But society 
is not merely an aggregate of persons, constituting their sum. 
Society is more than a mere summation of its various Jacks and 
Jills. We have already seen that society is a real aggregate, a 
“system”; we have seen that it is a very complicated system of 
mutual interactions between the various persons, which interac- 
tions are extremely varied in quality and quantity. This means 
that society, as a whole, is greater than the sum of its parts. It 
cannot in any way be reduced to these parts, which is also true 
of many systems of various kinds, both living organisms and 
dead mechanisms. For instance, let us take the case of any ma- 
chine, a simple watch, let us say. Take any such machine apart 
and lay its component parts in a heap. This heap will constitute 
their sum; but it will not be the machine; it will not be the watch; 
for the heap. lacks the definite relation, the definite mutual inter- 
action of the parts which transforms them into a mechanism. 
What makes these parts a whole? A certain arrangement of 
them. The same is true in society; society consists of people; but 
if these people, in the labor process, should not be at their posts 
at each given moment, if they were not connected by the labor 
hend between them, there would be no society. 


94 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


We must here point out another phenomenon observed in soci- 
ety ; namely, society consists not only of various persons mutually 
interacting, either directly or indirectly; it also consists of mu- 
tually interacting groups of persons, also constituting “real aggre- 
gates”, standing as it were between society and the individual. 
For instance, present-day society is exceedingly large; already 
people in the most remote countries have been brought into rela- 
tion, are being drawn in further and further, by a labor bond; 
there is practically a world society. But this society of almost 
I,500,000,000 persons mutually interacting, united by the funda- 
mental tie (of labor), as well as countless other ties, includes 
within it partial systems of persons united in some way or other; 
classes, states, church organizations, parties, etc. This subject 
will be discussed in detail later. For the present, we must ob- 
serve that within society there are a great number of groups of 
men; these groups, in turn, also consist of individual persons; 
the mutual interrelations between these persons usually become 
more frequent and intimate “in their own circle” than between men 
in general; the German philosopher and sociologist, G. Simmel, 
rightly observes that the narrower the circle of mutually interact- 
ing persons, the more intimate the relations between them, in 
general; besides, all these groups come into contact among them- 
selves. In other words, the various individuals constituting soci- 
ety do not always influence each other directly, but through groups, 
through partial systems within the single great system of human 
society. Let us consider, for instance, an individual worker in 
capitalist society. Whom does he meet most frequently, with 
- whom does he talk, discuss questions, etc.? Most often, it is with 
workers; very rarely does he meet artisans, or peasants, or bour- 
geois. This is an illustration of the existence of the class rela- 
tion. This worker most frequently comes into contact with other 
classes, not simply as an individual personality, but as a member 
of his class, sometimes even as a member of a consciously organ- 
ized body, a party, a trade union, etc. The same case applies 
also to the other groups in society, not only to classes: scholars 
associate mostly with scholars; journalists, with journalists; 
priests with priests, etc. 

In the material field, we find that society is not a mere aggre- 
gate of persons, that it is more than their sum, that their grouping 
and definite “disposition” (Marx calls it their “distribution”) in 
the labor process amounts to something new, something greater 





SOCIETY 95 


than their “sum” or “aggregate”. The same holds good also in the 
psychological (“mental”) life, which plays a very important part. 
We have already several times made use of the example of the 
fixing of a market price as a result of various individual guesses. 
The price is a social phenomenon, a social “resultant”, a product 
of the mutual interactions of persons. The price is not an aver- 
age of the guesses, nor does it in every case approximate the in- 
dividual guesses, for the individual guesses are a personal matter, 
concerning one man only, existing only in his mind, while the 
actual price is something that influences all; it is an independent 
fact which all must count on; an objective fact though it be im- 
material (see chapter ii of this book) ; the price, in other words, 
is something new, something that leads its own social life, is inde- 
pendent more or less of individual persons, although it is created 
by them. The case with the remaining evidences of the psychical 
life is the same. Languages, the political system, science, art, re- 
ligion, philosophy, and a great number of less important phe- 
nomena and subdivisions, such as fashions, customs, “good be- 
- havior’, etc., etc., all are products of social life, a result of the 
mutual interaction of persons, of their constant association with 
each other. ; 

Just as society is not merely a sum of the persons composing 
it, so the mental life of society is not merely a sum of the ideas 
and feelings of the individual persons composing it, but is a 
product of the association with each other, is to a certain extent 
something apart, new, not to be explained as a mere arithmetical 
sum; it is a new element resulting from the mutual interactions 
of persons. 


We can thus explain the necessity of special social sciences; Wundt 
correctly remarks: “It is rather the uniting and interacting of indi- 
viduals which produces this community as such, and thereby also 
awakens in the individual, performances specifically appertaining to 
the common life.” (W,. Wundt: Vdolkerpsychologie, vol. i, part i, 
Leipzig, 1911, p. 21.) 


Individual men are inconceivable outside of society, without 
society. Nor can we imagine society’s having been established 
by the various persons, living, as it were, in their “natural state”, 
coming together and uniting in order to form a society. This 
conception was at one time quite widespread, but it is entirely 
erroneous. If we trace the development of human society, we 
shall find that it was originally composed of a herd, and not at 


96 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


all of individual creatures of human shape, living in various places, 
who stiddenly discovered, one fine day, that it would be a fine 
thing (bright savages that they were!) to live together; and, hav- 
ing talked the thing over to the general satisfaction in their meet- 
ings, got together for the construction of a society. “The starting 
point (of science, N. B.),” wrote Karl Marx, “is the individual, 
producing in society, and thence comes the socially conditioned 
production of these individuals. The individual and isolated 
hunter and fisher ... belongs to the insipid illusions of the 
Eighteenth Century... . Production by isolated individual per- 
sons outside of society . . . is as great an absurdity (Unding) as 
would be the growth of language without the assumption of per- 
sons living together and talking with each other.” * 


The doctrine of the individual man entering into contractual rela- 
tions with others was expressed with particular crassness in J. J. 
Rousseau’s work, Le Contrat social (1762); man is born free in a 
“state of nature”; to assure his liberty, he enters into relations with 
others; society, as a state form, arises on the basis of the “social con- 
tract” (Rousseau draws no distinction between state and society). 
“The object of the social contract,” writes Rousseau (Book ii, chap. 
5), “is to protect the signatory parties.” As a matter of fact, Rous- 
seau does not investigate the true origin of the society or the state, 
but merely states what must be, what is the conception of society from 
the standpoint of “reason”, i.e., how a decent society should be con- 
structed. Anyone violating the “contract” is subject to punishment. 
It followed logically that kings abusing their power must be deposed. 
Therefore, Rousseau’s doctrine, in spite of its entirely erroneous con- 
ceptions, played an important revolutionary rdle during the French 
Revolution. 


Man’s social qualities could develop only in society. It is an 
absurdity to suppose that man (in the savage state) could have 
recognized the advantages of society without ever having seen a 
society. This would really be equivalent to assuming the growth 
of language among persons not in contact with each other, and 
distributed in various places. Man always was, as Aristotle puts 
it, “a social animal’’, 7.¢e., an animal living in society, never out of 
society. We cannot imagine that human society was “estab- 
lished” (a merchant, who has himself established a corporation, 
may imagine that human society was brought about in the same 

way). Human society has existed as long as there have been 
- humans; humans have never existed outside of society. Man 

8 Karl Marx: Introduction to the Critique of Political Economy, printed 


with A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, Chicago, 1013. 
pp. 265-267. 


SOCIETY 97 


is a social animal “by his nature”; his “nature” is a social nature, 
changing with society; he lives in society “‘by his nature”, and not 
by agreement or contract with other persons. 

Man having always lived in society, t.¢e., having always been 
social man, it follows that the individual has always had society 
as his environment. Since society has always constituted this en- 
vironment for the individual, it is natural to infer that this environ- 
ment has also determined the various individuals: one society, or 
environment, has produced one kind of individual; another soci- 
ety, another kind of individual; “a man is known by the company 
he keeps”’. 

An interesting question which has been a source of many dis- 
putes, is that of the réle of the individual in history. 

This question is not as difficult as it may seem. Does the indi- 
vidual play a part, or is he a mere zero in the course of events? 
Of course, since society consists of individuals, the action of any 
individual will have its influence on social phenomena. The in- 
dividual does play a “part’’; his actions, feelings, desires enter 
into the social phenomenon as a component part; “men make his- 
tory’. Social phenomena are composed of the mutual interac- 
tions of the forces of the various individuals, as we have seen. 

Furthermore, if the various individuals influence society, is it 
possible to determine how the actions of the various individuals 
are brought about? Yes; for we know that the will of man is not 
free, that it is determined by external circumstances. Since the 
external circumstances, in the case of the individual, are social 
circumstances (the conditions of life of the family, the group, the 
given occupation, the class, the situation of the entire society at 
a certain moment), his volition will be determined by external 
conditions; from them he will draw the motives of his activity. 
For instance, the soldier in the Russian army at the time of 
Kerensky observed that his peasant farm was going to pieces, that 
life was getting harder, that there was no end of the war in sight, 
that the capitalists were becoming more impudent, and were not 
giving the land to the peasants. Thence arose the motives of his 
action: to put a stop to the war, seize the land, and, for this pur- 
pose, overthrow the government. Social circumstances therefore 
determine the individual’s motives. 

These circumstances set the limits for the realization of the 
goals proposed by the individual person. Milyukov, in 1917, 
wished to strengthen the influenee of the bourgeoisie and to lean 


98 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


for support on the Allies; but his desire was not realized; cir- 
cumstances shifted so that Milyukov obtained nothing of what 
he wished. 

Furthermore, if we examine each individual in his development, 
we shall find that at bottom he is filled with the influences of his 
environment, as the skin of a sausage is filled with sausage-meat. 
Man “is trained” in the family, in the street, in the school. He 
speaks a language which is the product of social evolution; he 
thinks thoughts that have been devised by a whole series of pre- 
ceding generations; he is surrounded by other persons with all 
their modes of life; he has before his eyes an entire system of 
life, which influences him second by second. Like a sponge he 
constantly absorbs new impressions. And thus he is “formed” 
as an individual. Each individual at bottom is filled with a social 
content. The individual himself is a collection of concentrated 
social influences, united in a small unit. 

Another circumstance is worthy of attention. Often the role 
of the individual is quite large by virtue of his specific place and 
the specific work which he performs. For instance, the general 
staff of an army consists of a small number of persons only, while 
the army itself counts hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions 
of persons. It is apparent to anyone that the significance of the 
few persons in the general staff far exceeds that of the great num- 
ber in the army (soidiers or officers). If the enemy should suc- 
ceed in taking the general staff, this might be equivalent, under 
certain circumstances, to a defeat of the entire army. The impor- 
tance of these few persons is therefore very great. But what 
would the general staff amount to without its telephone system, 
its reports, its announcements, its maps, its opportunities to issue 
prders, the discipline in the army, etc.? Very little. The per- 
sons constituting the general staff might be no more than the rest 
of the army; their strength, their significance is the result of a 
special social connection, of the organization within which these 
persons are working. To be sure, they may be capable of dis- 
charging their duties (they may have sufficient training or natural 
aptitude, the latter developed by experience, as was the case with 
many of Napoleon’s generals, or with the commanders of the Red 
Army). But apart from this special connection, they lose their 
significance entirely. The opportunity on the part of the general 
staff to exert a powerful influence on the army is conditioned 
by the army itself, by its structure, its dispositions, by the aggre- 


SOCIETY 99 


gate of mutual interactions that have here been brought together. 

In society the case is the same. The role of political leaders, for 
instance, is much larger than the role of the average man of a cer- 
tain class or party. Of course, it is necessary to have certain 
aptitudes, mental qualities, experience, etc., in order to become a 
political leader. But it is also clear that in the absence of the 
necessary Organizations (parties, unions, a proper approach to 
the masses, etc.) the “leaders” could not play such an important 
part. It is the strength of the social bonds that gives strength 
to the individual persons of prominence. Quite similar is the 
case in other relations also, let us say with regard to inventors, 
scholars, etc. They can “develop” only under certain circum- 
stances. Suppose an inventor, talented by nature, has had no 
opportunity to “push himself”, has learned nothing, read nothing, 
has been obliged to take up an entirely different activity, for in- 
stance, selling rags. His “talent” would go to pot; no one would 
ever hear of him. Just as the military leader is inconceivable 
without an army, so the technical inventor is inconceivable with- 
out machinery, apparatus and the people that go with them. And, 
on the other hand, if our rag-dealer should succeed in “making his 
way in the world”, 1.e., in occupying a certain place in the system 
of social relations, he might become a second Edison. We might 
give any number of such examples, but it is self-evident that in 
all these cases society has a certain influence, and that it is im- 
possible to “develop” except on the basis of this influence within 
which the social (class, group, general) demand is felt. 

Thus, the social relations themselves impart importance to the 
various individuals. 


This point of view has made very slow headway, for the reasons 
so brilliantly revealed by M. N. Pokrovsky (Outlines of the History 
of Russian Culture, vol. i, p. 3, in Russian). The historian, by reason 
of his personal situation, is a mental worker, an intellectual; proceed- 
ing to a consideration of his more specific earmarks, he is a man who 
does work in writing, a literary worker. What is more natural for 
him than to consider mental work as the chief substance of history, 
and literary works, from poems and romances to philosophical treatises 
and scientific publications, as the fundamental facts of civilization? 
. .. Furthermore, ‘men who do mental work—quite naturally—were 
seized with the pride that dictated the hymns of praise to the Pharaohs. 
They began to believe that they were making history.” It should be 
added that this professional standpoint fully coincided with the class 
standpoint of the ruling classes, the minority that dominated the great 
majority. It is not difficult to see that this emphasis and preference 
for leaders, particularly kings, princes, etc., and also for so called 


100 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


geniuses—is closely allied with the religious point of view; for here 
the social power is overlooked, the power which is conferred by society 
on the individual; in its stead, the historian visualizes the inscrutable, 
i.e., actually, “divine” power of the individual person. This is excel- 
lently expressed by the Russian philosopher, V. S. Solovyov, in his 
Justification of the Good, chap. iv: “The providential persons who 
have enabled us to share the heights of religion and of human enlight- 
enment were originally by no means the creators of these possessions. 
That which they gave us was taken by them from earlier world-historic 
geniuses, heroes and martyrs, all of whom we must bear gratefully in 
mind. We must attempt to restore the full line of our mental ancestors, 
the men through whom Providence has been impelling mankind for- 
ward on the path to perfection. ... In these ‘chosen vessels; we 
worship that which He (the Heavenly Father) has imbued them with; 
in these visible counterfeits of invisible divinity, the divinity itself is 
recognized and worshiped.’ ‘This balderdash speaks for itself—it re- 
\uires no refutation. 


It follows from the above that the “individual” always acts as 
a social individual, as a component part of a group, a class, a 
society. The “individual” is always filled with a social content, 
for which reason it is necessary, in an effort to understand the 
growth of society, to begin with a consideration of the social 
conditions, and to proceed from them, if that be necessary, to the 
individual; the contrary process is worthless. By means of the 
social relations—by an investigation of the conditions of the entire 
social life, the life of a class, of a trade group, the family, the 
school, etc.—we may more or less explain the development of the 
individual; but we could never explain the development of society 
by means of the development of the “individual”. For each in- 
dividual, whatever be his activity, always has in mind what has 
already taken place in society; for example, when the buyer goes 
to market to buy shoes or bread, his price estimates are based on 
his personal approximation to prices now prevalent or formerly 
prevalent on the market. When the inventor devises a new ma- 
chine, he proceeds on the basis of what is already in existence, 
on the basis of existing technique or existing science, on the prob- 
lems presented by this science, on the demands of practical work, 
etc. In a word, if we should attempt—as do certain bourgeois 
scholars—to explain social phenomena on the basis of individual 
phenomena (on the individual psychology), we should have not 
an explanation, but an absurdity; the social phenomenon (for 
instance, the price) cannot be explained by the individual phe- 
nomenon (for instance, the value put upon the goods by Smith, 
Jones, or Robinson), but their estimates can be explained by the 


SOCIETY 101 


price which Smith, Jones, or Robinson had in mind from some 
previous occasion. We have therefore seen that the individual 
draws his motives from the generality, the social environment ; 
the conditions under which the social environment develops pro- 
vide the limits for the individual’s activity; the individual’s role 
is determined by social conditions. Society takes precedence over 
the individual. 


e. Societies in Process of Formation 


The fact that man has always existed in society by no means 
signifies that new societies may not be formed or that old societies 
may not grow. 

Let us assume that at a certain time various human groups 
are in existence at various points on the earth’s surface, and that 
these human organizations have no relation whatever with each 
other ; they are divided by mountains, rivers and oceans, and have 
not yet attained a stage of “cultural development” that would 
enable them to overcome these obstacles. If they succeed in 
coming into contact with each other at all, it is only at the rarest 
intervals, and with no regularity; a permanent relation does not 
exist between them. 

Under these circumstances, we cannot speak of a single great 
society embracing these various groups. Instead of a universal 
society, we have as many societies as there are groups of the kind 
mentioned, for the basis of society, its most outstanding charac- 
teristic, is a permanent labor bond, a series of “production rela- 
tions’, constituting a skeleton for the entire system. In the case 
above described there is no such relation between the groups, no 
universal society, but a number of petty societies, each with its 
own special history. 

We cannot therefore speak of a union of “men” in a single 
society, but may only group them as “men”, as opposed to other 
animals; in other words, we may consider them as united in a 
biological group (as distinct from fleas, giraffes, elephants) ; but 
not in a social group from the standpoint of social science, of 
sociology; we are dealing with a single type of animal, but not 
with a single society. From the standpoint of biological unity, it 
is sufficient that these animals should have the same morphology, 
the same organs, etc. But sociological unity would require that 
these animals should work together in some way or other, not 


102 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


merely simultaneously, not merely in parallel activities, but to- 
pether. 

Some go so far as to deny that society exists as a unit. For 
example, Professor Wipper says:* “A completely closed system 
of natural economy has perhaps never existed from the beginning 
of civilization. We have always had commercial relations, colo- 
nization, migrations, propaganda. Doubtless, independent work 
has been done in certain places, much has been simultaneously 
accomplished within various geographical limits and conditions by 
independent effort, but perhaps the next following stage in evo- 
lution has in most cases been attained by a sudden bound, as a sort 
of premature lesson, crudely and imperfectly taught, but never- 
theless repeated by others and later learned.” But while there 
may never have been an absolute, complete system, there is no 
doubt whatever that the exchange relations existing between vari- 
ous human societies were once extremely slight. For instance, 
what relations existed between the European peoples and America 
before Columbus? Even among the European peoples themselves 
—let us say—in the Middle Ages, relations were very weak. It 
is therefore impossible in such cases to speak of a single human 
society ; humanity was then a unit only from the biological stand- 
point. 

Let us now suppose that contacts hegin between our various 
societies, first, military contacts, then commercial relations. These 
commercial relations become more and more permanent; finally 
a time comes when one society cannot exist without the other; 
certain societies produce chiefly one thing, while others pro- 
duce another thing; these products are exchanged and thus the 
societies work upon each other, this work now having a regular 
and not merely accidental character, which is necessary for the 
existence of both groups of societies. We now already have a 
single society on a large scale, formed by the union of societies 
once distinct from each other. 

The opposite process may also take place; under certain con- 
ditions, society may dissolve into a number of societies (usually 
under conditions of decline). 

It follows that society is not a permanent thing, existing from 
time immemorial; for we may trace the process of its formation. 
For example, we have seen such a process going on in the second 


In his article, “New Horizons in the Science of History” (in Russian), 
in the periodical Sovremenny Mir, November, 1906. 


SOCIETY 103 


half of the Nineteenth Century and the beginning of the Twentieth 
Century. In various ways (through colonial wars, the increase 
in exchanges of goods, export and import of capital, movement 
of population from one country to another, and the like) closer 
and closer mutual relations have been built up between countries. 
All countries have been joined by a permanent economic bond, 
which means, in the last analysis, a labor bond. A world eco- 
nomic system has resulted, world capitalism has grown up, all 
of whose parts are interrelated with each other. Together with 
the international movement of things and people: commodities, 
capital, workers, merchants, engineers, traveling salesmen, etc., a 
tremendous current of ideas has also been moving from country 
to country: scientific ideas, artistic ideas, philosophical ideas, re- 
ligious ideas, political ideas, etc., etc. The world trade in ma- 
terial things has brought with it a world exchange of mental prod- 
ucts. A single human society has begun to exist, having a single 
history. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


K. Marx: A Contribution to a Critique of Political Economy, Chi- 
cago, 1913. K. Marx: Capital, vol. i, Chicago, 1915; F. Engels: Antt- 
Diihring; F. Engels: Feuerbach (translated into English by Austin 
Lewis, Chicago, 1906; H. Cunow: Soztologie, Ethnologie and mate- 
rialistische Geschichtsauffassung. HH. Cunow: Die Marsxsche Ge- 
schichts-, Gesellschafts- und Staatslehre; Grundztige der Marxschen 
Soziologie, vol. i; Plekhanov: Twenty Years (in Russian); N. Buk- 
harin: The Economic Theory of the Leisure Class. On the subject of 
production relations, cf. N. Bukharin: Imperialism and World Econ- 
omy. 


V. THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIETY AND 
NATURE 


a. Nature as the Environment of Society 


A CONSIDERATION of society as a system involves the recognition 
of “external nature” as its environment, 1.e., chiefly the terrestrial 
globe with all its natural properties. Human society is unthink- 
able without its environment. Nature is the source of foodstuffs 
for human society, thus determining the latter’s living conditions. 
But nothing could be more incorrect than to regard nature from 
the teleological point of view: man, the lord of creation, with 
nature created for his use, and all things adapted to human needs. 
As a matter of fact, nature often falls upon the “lord of creation” 
in such a savage manner that he is obliged to admit her superi- 
ority. It has taken man centuries of bitter struggle to place his 
iron bit in nature’s mouth. 

Now man, as an animal form, as well as human society, are 
products of nature, parts of this great, endless whole. Man can 
never escape from nature, and even when he “controls” nature, 
he. is merely making use of the laws of nature for his own ends. 
It is therefore clear how great must be the influence of nature 
on the whole development of human society. Before proceeding 
to a study of the relations existing between nature and man, or 
of the forms in which nature operates on human society, we must 
consider first of all with what phases of nature man comes chiefly 
in contact. We have only to look about us in order to perceive 
the dependence of society on nature: “The soil (and this, eco- 
nomically speaking, includes water) in the virgin state in which 
it supplies man with necessaries or the means of subsistence ready 
to hand, exists independently of him, and is the universal subject 
of human labor. All those things which labor merely separates 
from immediate connection with their environment, are subjects 
of labor spontaneously provided by nature. Such are fish which 
we catch and take from their element water, timber which we 
fell in the virgin forest, and ores which we extract from their 
veins. .. . As the earth is his original larder, so too it is his 

104 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 105 


original tool house. It supplies him, for instance, with stones for 
throwing, grinding, pressing, cutting, etc.”1 Nature is the im- 
mediate object of labor in the acquisitive industries (mining, hunt- 
ing, portions of agriculture, etc.). In other words, nature deter- 
mines what raw materials are to be manipulated. Man, as we have 
seen above, is constantly making use of the laws of nature in his 
struggle with her. “He makes use of the mechanical, physical 
and chemical properties of some bodies in order to make other sub- 
stances subservient with his aims.” * Man makes use of the power 
of steam, electricity, etc., the attraction of the earth for bodies 
(law of gravitation), etc. It is impossible, therefore, for the state 
of nature at a certain place and at a certain time not to act upon 
human society. Climate (quantity of moisture, winds, tempera- 
ture, etc.), configuration of surface (hills or valleys, distribution 
of water, character of rivers, presence of metals, minerals, all 
the resources buried in the earth), the character of the shore (in 
the case of a maritime community), the distribution of land and 
water, the presence of various animals and plants, etc., such are 
the chief elements of nature that influence human society. Whales 
and fish may not be caught on land; agriculture may not be pbur- 
sued on rocky mountains; deserts are a poor place for forestry; 
you cannot live in tents in cold countries during the winter, nor 
do you heat your hut in hot weather: if no metals are in the 
ground, you cannot conjure them down from heaven or suck them 
out of your finger-tips, etc. 


In detail, the influence of nature is found expressed in the following 
conditions: 

Distribution of land and water. In general, mar is a land animal; 
the ocean therefore has a double influence: it divides, and, on the other 
hand, furnishes a transportation route. The former influence is earlier 
than the latter. The influence of the coast-line is chiefly in its pos- 
sessing—or not possessing—good harbors. With few exceptions 
(Cherbourg, for instance), modern seaports are established where the 
natural curves of the seacoast provide natural harbors. The surfac’ 
of the earth, whose influence on man is felt through the animal ana 
vegetable kingdoms, has also a more direct influence—varying greatly 
in accordance with the stage in evolution—by determining the nature 
and direction of transportation routes (paths, highways, railroads, 
tunnels, etc.). 

Stones and minerals. Construction work depends on the nature of 
the available stone quarries. In mountainous regions, the hard varieties 
(for instance, porphyry, basalt, etc.) predominate; in valleys, softer 


1 Karl Marx: Capital, Chicago, 1915, vol. i, pp. 198, 199. 
2 Ibid., p. 199. 


106 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


varieties. The importance of minerals and metals has increased par- 
ticularly in recent days (iron, coal). Certain minerals furnish the 
principal reason for the migration of nations, as well as colonization. 
(The presence of tin lured the Phcenicians northward; gold drew them 
to South Africa and East India; gold and silver brought the Spaniards 
to America.) The centers of modern heavy industry are determined 
by the location of deposits of iron ore and coal. The character of the 
soil, together with the climate, have their influence on the vegetable 
kingdom. 

Continental bodies of water. Water is of value, in the first place, 
for drinking purposes (therefore it is so precious in the desert) ; 
second, we have its significance for agriculture (the soil—depending 
on the amount of water in it—must be drained or irrigated). It is 
well known how significant are the inundations of the great rivers 
(Nile, Ganges, etc.) for agriculture, and how great was the influence 
of this circumstance on the ancient Egyptians and East Indians. Water 
is also important as motive power (water-mills are among the earliest 
inventions; therefore, cities arose in close proximity to regions rich 
in water; more recently, the utilization of water power in electrification 
may be mentioned, the so called “white coal,’ now widely exploited 
in America, Germany, Norway, Sweden and Italy). Finally, there is 
the fact that water furnishes transportation routes, which some scholars 
consider its most important function. 

The Climate’s influence is chiefly through its effect on production. 
The species of plants to be cultivated depend on the climate, which also 
determines the length of the agricultural season (very short in Rus- 
sia; lasting nearly a year in southern countries); labor forces are 
therefore liberated in northern climates, becoming available for indus- 
try, etc. Climate also has an influence on transportation (traffic by 
sleigh in winter; harbors frozen up or open in winter, also rivers, etc.). 
A cold climate requires a greater quantity of labor devoted to nourish- 
ment, clothing, housing, artificial heating, etc.; in the north, more time 
is spent indoors; in the south, more in the open air. 

The Flora has a varying influence: at lower levels of culture, the 
paths depended on the nature of the forests (inaccessible primeval 
forests), the species of trees determine the character of construction, 
fuel, etc., also the chase, agriculture, even the specific variety of agri- 
culture. The same is true of cattle breeding. The fauna, for primitive 
tribes, constitutes a powerful hostile element, serving chiefly for nutri- 
tion, in other words, as the object of the chase and of fishery; later, 
there came the taming of beasts, with a further effect on production 
and transportation (draught animals). 

The Ocean has always been of great importance; travel and freight 
are cheaper by sea; the ocean also furnishes the theater for many 
branches of production (fisheries, whaling, sealing, etc.). (Cf. A. 
Hettner: Die geographischen Bedingungen der menschlichen Wirt- 
schaft in Grundriss der Nationalokonomik, Tiibingen 1914.) The in- 
fluence of climatic conditions may be illustrated as follows: in the 
matter of average annual temperatures (so called isotherms on the 
charts), “it may be observed that the greatest populations have con- 
gregated between the isotherms of + 16° C. and + 4° C. The 
isotherm + 10° C. coincides pretty closely with the central axis of 
this climatic and cultural zone, and on this isotherm lie the richest 
and most populous cities of the globe: Chicago, New York, Philadel- 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 107 


phia, London, Vienna, Odessa, Peking; on isotherm + 16° we find: 
St. Louis, Lisbon, Rome, Constantinople, Osaka, Kioto, Tokio; on 
isotherm + 4°, we have: Quebec, Oslo, Stockholm, Leningrad, Mos- 
cow. Very few cities of more than 100,000 inhabitants are found 
south of isotherm + 16°: Mexico, New Orleans, Cairo, Alexandria, 
Teheran, Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, Canton. The northern limit— 
isotherm + 4°—is more sharply drawn; north of it, the only important 
cities are Winnipeg (Canada) and the administrative centers of 
Siberia.” (L. I. Mechnikov: Civilization and the Great Historical 
Rivers, quoted from the Russian edition, Petersburg, 1898, pp. 38, 39.) 


b. Relations between Society and Nature; the Process of Pro- 
duction and Reproduction 


We already know that in any system the cause for alterations 
in the system must be sought in its relations with its environment; 
also, that the fundamental direction of growth (progress, rest, or 
destruction of the system), depends precisely on what the relation 
is between the given system and its environment. An alteration 
in this relation impels us to seek a cause producing a change in the 
system itself. Where shall we seek the constantly changing rela- 
tions between society and nature? 

We have already seen that this changing relation is in the field 
of social labor. As a matter of fact, how does the process of 
adaptation of human society to nature express itself? What is 
the character of the unstable equilibrium between society and 
nature? 

Human society, ever since it began, has had to abstract material 
energy from external nature; without these loans it could not 
exist. Society best adapts itself to nature by abstracting (and 
appropriating to itself) more energy from nature; only by in- 
creasing this quantity of energy does society succeed in growing. 
Let us suppose, for example, that on a certain day all labor should 
stop—in factories, machine-shops, mines, on railroads, in the for- 
ests and fields, by land and sea. Society would not be able to 
maintain itself for a single week, for even in order to live on the 
existing supplies, it would have to transport, forward, and dis- 
tribute them. “Every child knows that any nation would perish 
of hunger if it should stop work, I shall not say for a year, but 
only for a few weeks.” ® Men cultivate the ground, raise wheat, 
rye, maize; they breed and graze animals; they raise cotton, hemp 
and flax; they cut down trees, break stone in quarries, and thus 


__ 'Karl Marx’s letters to Kugelmann, in Die Neue Zeit, 1901-1902, part 
ENO. 7D. 222, 


108 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


satisfy their demands for food, clothing, and shelter. They seize 
coal and iron-ore in the bowels of the earth and create great ma- 
chines of steel, with the aid of which they dig down into nature 
in various directions, changing the entire earth into a gigantic 
workshop, in which men beat with hammers, work at the benches, 
dig holes underground, see to it that the great engines run smoothly, 
cut tunnels through the mountains, cross the oceans in huge ships, 
bear burdens through the air, trace a great network of rails over 
the earth, lay cables at the bottom of the sea—and everywhere, 
from the noisy city centers to the remote country nooks on the 
earth’s surface, they work like beavers for their “daily bread’, 
always by adapting themselves to nature and adapting nature to 
themselves. One part of nature, external nature, the part that we 
are calling the “environment’’, is opposed to another part, which is 
human society. And the form of contact between these two parts 
of a single whole is the process of human labor. “Labor is, in the 
first place, a process in which both man and nature participate, 
and in which man of his own accord, starts, regulates, and controls 
the material reactions between himself and nature. He opposes 
himself to nature as one of her own forces.” * The immediate 
contact between society and nature, 1.¢., the abstraction of energy 
from nature, is a material process. “Man sets in motion his arms 
and legs, head and hands, the natural forces of his body, in order 
to appropriate nature’s productions in a form adapted to his own 
wants.” > 

This material process of “metabolism” between society and 
nature is the fundamental relation between environment and sys- 
tem, between “external conditions’ and human society. 

In order that society may continue to live, the process of pro- 
duction must be constantly renewed. If we assume that at any 
moment a certain amount of wheat, shoes, shirts, etc., have been 
produced, and that all these are eaten, worn, used up, in the same 
period, it is clear that production must at once repeat its cycle; 
in fact, it must be constantly repeated, each cycle following im- 
mediately upon the other. The process of production, viewed 
from the point of view of a repetition of these productive cycles, 
is called the reproductive process. For a realization of the re- 
productive process it is necessary that all its material conditions 
be repeated, for example: for the production of textile fabrics, 


4 Capital, Chicago, 1915, vol. i, pp. 197, 198. 
5 Tbid., p. 108. 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 10% 


we need looms; for looms we need steel; for steel we need iron: 
ore and coal; for transporting the latter substances we need rail. 
roads, and therefore also rails, locomotives, etc., also highways, 
steamers, etc.; warehouses, factory buildings, etc.; in other words, 
we need a long series of material products of the most varied 
nature. Of course, all these material products deteriorate—some 
faster than others—in the process of production; the foodstuffs 
obtained by the weavers are eaten up; the weaving looms wear out; 
the warehouses become old, need overhauling ; locomotives get out 
of repair, cars, the ties, must be replaced. In fact, a constant 
replacement (by new production) of worn-out, used up, consumed 
objects, in all their various material forms, is a necessary con- 
dition of the process of reproduction. At any given moment, 
human society requires for continuing the progress of repro- 
duction a certain quantity of foodstuffs, buildings, mining prod- 
ucts, finished industrial products, replacement parts for trans- 
portation units, etc. All these things must be produced if society 
is not to lower its standard of living, beginning with wheat and 
rye, coal and steel, and ending with microscopes and chalk for 
schools, book-bindings, and news-print paper. All these things 
are a necessary part of the material turnover of society; they are 
the material components of the social process of reproduction. 

We therefore regard the metabolism between society and nature 
as a material process, for it deals with material things (objects of 
labor, instruments of labor, and products obtained as a conse- 
quence—all are material things) ; on the other hand, the process 
of labor itself is an expenditure of physiological energy, nerve 
energy, muscular energy, whose material expression is in the 
physical motions of those engaged at work. “If we examine the 
whole process from the point of view of its result, of the product, 
it is plain that both the instruments and the subject of labor, are 
means of production, and that the labor itself is productive 
labor’’.® 


Even bourgeois professors, sticking to their “specialty”, reluctantly 
recognize the material character of the process of production. Thus, 
Professor Herkner (Arbeit und Arbeitsteilung, in Grundriss der 
Sozialdkonomie, vol. ii, p. 170) writes: “An investigation of the essence 
of labor requires the understanding of two types of processes. . . . In 
the first place, bodily labor is expressed in certain external movements. 
The smith’s left hand, for instance, seizes the red-hot iron with a pair 
of tongs, placing it on the anvil, while his right imparts form to it 
through blows with the hammer. ... The number, variety and size 


¢ Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i, p. 201. 


110 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of the results of labor may be determined. . . . It is possible to describe 
the entire labor process, as well as the instruments of labor used in it,” 
etc. Herkner calls this “labor in the objective sense”. On the other 
hand, the same process may be regarded from the point of view of 
the thoughts and feelings produced in the worker; this is labor “in 
the subjective sense”. Since we are concerned with the mutual relation 
between society and nature, and since this mutual relation happens to 
coincide with objective (material) labor, we may now ignore the sub- 
jective phase of this process. It is therefore important for us to 
examine the material production of all the material elements necessary 
for the process of reproduction. 

But the fact that instruments of precision, for instance, are material 
things, and that their production is a part of material production, 
necessary in the process of reproduction, does not justify the conclu- 
sion drawn by Kautsky (Die Neue Zeit, vol. 15, p. 233) or Cunow 
(Die Neue Zeit, vol. 39, p. 408), namely, that mathematics and its 
study are a portion of production, merely because they are necessary 
for this production. However, if all persons should suddenly lose the 
faculty of speech, and if there should be no other means of com- 
munication aside from-this lost faculty, it would at once transpire that 
production also would cease. Language therefore is also “necessary” 
for reproduction, like many other elements in any society. Yet it would 
be ridiculous to consider language as a part of production. Nor need 
we here cudgel our brains with another allegedly troublesome question: 
which came first, the chicken or the egg; society or production? This~ 
question is an absurd one; society is inconceivable without production; 
production is inconceivable without society. But it 7s important to 
determine whether the alteration in a system is conditioned by the 
alterations taking place between the system and its environment. If 
so, we must next ask: wherein is this alteration to be sought? The 
answer is: in material labor. This mode of formulating the question 
disposes of most of the “profound” objections to historical materialism, 
and it becomes evident that the “first cause” of social evolution is to 
be found precisely here. But more of this later. 


The metabolism between man and nature consists, as we have 
seen, in the transfer of material energy from external nature to 
society; the expenditure of human energy (production) is an 
extraction of energy from nature, energy which is to be added 
to society (distribution of products between the members of soci- 
ety) and appropriated by society (consumption) ; this appropria- 
tion is the basis for further expenditure, etc., the wheel of re- 
production being thus constantly in motion. Taken as a whole, 
the process of reproduction therefore includes various phases, 
together constituting a unit, at the bottom of which is again the 
same productive process. It is obvious that human society comes 
most directly into contact with external nature in the process of 
production; it rubs elbows with nature at this point; therefore, 
within the process of reproduction, the productive phase deter- 
mines also that of distribution and consumption. : 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 111 


The process of social production is an adaptation of human 
society to external nature. The process is an active one. When 
any type of animal adapts itself to nature, this type is subject, at 
bottom, to the constant action of its environment. When human 
society adapts itself to its environment, it also adapts the environ- 
ment to itself, not only becoming subject to the action of nature, 
as a material, but also simultaneously transforming nature into 
a material for human action. For example, when certain forms 
of insects or birds have a coloring similar to that of their en- 
vironment (mimicry), this phenomenon is not a result of any 
effort on the part of these organisms, and certainly not a result 
of their action on external nature. This result was obtained at 
the price of the destruction of countless myriads of individual 
animals, in the course of many thousands of years, with those best 
adapted surviving and multiplying. Human society struggles with 
nature; man plows the ground, constructs roads through im- 
passable forests, conquers the forces of nature, uses them for his 
own ends, changes the whole face of the earth; this is an active, 
not a passive, adaptation, and constitutes one of the basic differ- 
ences between human society and the other types of animals. 


This was already well understood by the French Physiocrats in the 
Eighteenth Century. Thus, we find in Nicolas Baudeau (Premiére 
introduction a la philosophie économique, ou analyse des états policés, 
1767, Collection des Economistes et des Réformateurs sociaux de 
France, published by Dubois, Paris, 1910, p. 2): “All animals are daily 
attempting to find products produced by nature, #.e., food furnished by 
the earth itself. Certain species . . . collect these commodities and 
preserve them. ... Man only, destined (this thought is expressed 
teleologically—N.B.) to investigate the mysteries of nature and its 
fruitfulness, can obtain more useful products than he finds on the 
surface of the earth in its wild and unworked condition. This activity 
(cet art) is perhaps one of man’s noblest traits on earth.” 

“Man,” writes the geographer L. Mechnikov (op. cit., p. 44), “who 
shares with all other organisms the valuable property of adaptation 
to his environment, dominates all by reason of the more precious ability 
—peculiar to him—of adapting the environment to his needs.” 

Strictly speaking, active adaptation (by means of labor) is found 
in elementary outline among certain types of so called social animals 
(beavers, who build dams; ants, who erect large hills; plant-lice, who 
exploit certain plants; bees, etc.) ; the primitive forms of human labor 
were also animal-like, instinctive forms of labor. 


ce. The Productive Forces; the Productive Forces as an Indicator 
of the Relations between Society and Nature 


Thus, the interrelation between society and nature is a process 
of social reproduction. In this process, society applies its human 


112 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


labor energy and obtains a certain quantity of energy from na- 
ture (“‘nature’s material”, in the words of Marx). The balance 
between expenditure and receipts is here obviously the decisive 
element for the growth of society. If what is obtained exceeds 
the loss by labor, important consequences obviously follow for 
society, which vary with the amount of this excess. 

Let us suppose a certain society must devote all its working 
time to covering its most rudimentary needs. It is obvious that 
the products obtained will be consumed as rapidly as new prod- 
ucts are produced. This society will therefore not have enough 
time to produce an additional quantity of products, to extend its 
requirements, to introduce new products; it will hardly be able to 
make ends meet, will live from hand to mouth, will eat up what it 
produces, consuming just enough to keep on working; all its time 
will be spent in the production of an unvarying quantity of prod- 
ucts. This society will remain at the same low level of exist- 
ence. It will be impossible for its demands to increase; it will 
have to suit its wants to its resources, and both will remain un- 
changed. 

Now let us suppose that for some reason the same quantity of 
necessary products is obtained with an expenditure, not of all of 
society’s time, but of only one-half of this time (for example, the 
primitive tribe has migrated to a place where there is twice as 
much game, twice as many beasts of all kinds, or where the earth 
is twice as fruitful; or, the tribe has improved its method of work- 
ing the soil, or devised new tools, etc.). 

In such a case, society will be free for one-half of its former 
working time. It may devote this free time to new branches of 
production: to the manufacture of new tools; to the obtaining of 
new raw materials, etc., and also to certain forms of mental labor. 
Here the growth of new demands becomes possible, for the first 
time we have an opportunity for the birth and development of so 
called “mental culture’. If the free time now available is used 
only partly in perfecting the former types of labor, it follows that 
in the future the former demands may be satisfied by devoting to 
them even less than one-half the entire labor time (new perfec- 
tions in the labor process arise) ; in the next cycle of reproduction, 
still less time is required, etc., and the time thus rendered avail- 
able will be devoted in greater and greater measure to the manu- 
facture of more and more improved tools, instruments, machines, 
on the one hand, and, on the other hand, to new branches of pro- 


SOCIETY AND NATURE « 118 


duction, satisfying new wants; and, in the third place, to “mental 
culture”, beginning with those phases that are more or less con- 
nected with the process of production. 

Let us now suppose that the same quantity of necessary objects 
which formerly demanded the expenditure of the entire labor time, 
now require not one-half this time, but twice the time (for in- 
stance, owing to an exhaustion of the soil) ; it is clear that unless 
new modes of labor are resorted to, or new lands settled, this 
society will decline, a portion of its numbers will die out. Let 
us further suppose that a highly developed society, with a rich 
“mental culture’, with the most varied wants, an infinite number 
of different branches of production, with “arts and sciences” in 
full bloom, suddenly finds difficulty in satisfying its needs; per- 
haps, owing to certain reasons, the society is not able to manipulate 
its technical apparatus (for example, there may be constant class 
war, with no class gaining the upper hand, and the productive 
process, with its highly developed technique, dies out); it is then 
necessary to return to an older stage of labor, in which, for cover- 
ing the former demands, a much greater period of time would be 
required, at present an impossibility ; production will be curtailed, 
the standard of living will go down, the flourishing “arts and 
sciences” will wither; mental life will be impoverished; society, 
unless this lowering of its standard is the result of merely tem- 
porary causes, will be “barbarianized”’, will go to sleep. 

The most noteworthy feature in all these cases is the fact that 
the growth of society is determined by the yield or productivity 
of social labor; the productivity of labor means the relation be- 
tween the quantity of product obtained and the quantity of labor 
expended ; in other words, the productivity of labor is the quantity 
of product per unit of working time, for example, the amount of 
product turned out in one day, or in one hour, or in one year. 
If this amount of product obtained per working hour is doubled, 
we say the productivity of labor has increased 100 per cent., if it 
is halved, we say it has gone down 50 per cent. 

Obviously, the productivity of labor is a precise measure of 
the “balance” between society and nature; it is a measure of the 
mutual interaction between the environment and the system by 
which the position of the system in the environment is determined, 
and an alteration of which will indicate inevitable changes through- 
out the internal life of society. 

In considering the productivity of social labor, we must also 


114 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


consider among labor expenditures the amount of human labor 
which is devoted to the production of suitable instruments of 
labor. If, for example, a certain product has hitherto been manu- 
factured by human hands only, practically without tools, and now 
begins to be made with the aid of complicated machinery, and if 
the application of this machinery makes possible the manufacture 
of twice the quantity of products in the same time as formerly, 
this will not mean that the productivity of labor of the entire 
society will be doubled. For we have not counted the expenditure 
of human labor that went into the manufacture of the machines 
(or, more correctly, we have not counted the labor that is id1- 
rectly involved in the product because it went directly into the 
machines). The total productivity of labor will therefore be found 
to have somewhat less than doubled. 


Those who love to harp on petty things may object to the conception 
of the productivity of social labor, and its adaptation to society as a 
whole, as does P. P. Maslov (Capitalism, in Russian). For example, 
one may raise the objection that the conception of the productivity of 
labor is valid only as applied to single branches of production. Ina 
certain year, in so many working hours, so many pairs of boots were 
turned out. In the following year, twice as many in the same time. 
But how may we compare and add together the productivity of labor 
in the fields—let us say—of pig-breeding and orange-culture? Is 
this not as silly as the comparison between music, bills of exchange, 
and sugar-beets, of which Marx spoke so scornfully? Such objections 
may be answered in two ways; in the first place, all the useful prod- 
ucts appropriated by society may be measured comparatively, as useful 
energies; we already express rye, wheat, sugar-beets, and potatoes, 
in calories; if we have not yet advanced so far as to be able to ex- 
press these other things in actual practice, we must not attach too 
much importance to this inability; we must recognize that such a 
process will ultimately be possible; in the second place, we are already 
able to compare with each other, by indirect and complicated methods, 
quantities of quite varied objects. This is not the place for indicating 
the method pursued, but we shall adduce a simple case. If, for ex- 
ample, in a certain year, in a certain number of hours of labor, there 
were produced 1,000 pairs of boots plus 2,000 packages of cigarettes 
plus 20 machines, and in another year, in the same labor period: 
1,000 pairs of boots plus 1,999 packages of cigarettes plus 21 machines 
plus 100 woolen sweaters, we may maintain without error that the 
productivity of labor has increased on the whole. Of course, we can 
also imagine the objection that not only products of consumption are 
produced, but also instruments of production. This would, of course, 
complicate the calculation considerably, but suitable methods may be 
devised for including this circumstance. 


Thus, the relation between nature and society is expressed in 
the relation between the quantity of useful energy turned out, 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 115 


and the expenditure of social labor, 7.e., the productivity of social 
labor. The expenditure of labor consists of two components: the 
labor that is crystallized and included in the instruments of pro- 
duction, and the “living” labor, 7.e., the direct expenditure of work- 
ing energy. If the productivity of labor as a quantity be regarded 
from the point of view of the component material factors of this 
quantity, we find we are dealing with three quantities: first, the 
quantity of products obtained; second, the quantity of instruments 
of production; third, the quantity of the productive forces, i.e., 
living workers. All these quantities are mutually dependent. 
For, if we know what workers are involved, we shall also know 
what they will produce in a given length of time; these two quan- 
tities determine the third quantity, the product turned out. Taken 
together, these two quantities constitute what we call the material 
productive forces of society. If, in the case of a certain society, 
we know what instruments of production it controls, how many 
such instruments, what kinds of workers and how many, we shall 
also know what will be the productivity of social labor, and what 
will be the degree to which this society has conquered nature, etc. 
In other words, the instruments of production and the working 
forces give us a precise material measure for the stage attained 
in the social evolution. 

We may also glance a little deeper; we may go so far as to say 
that the instruments of production determine even the nature of 
the worker. For example, when the linotype machine is added to 
the system of social labor, workers will be found to run the ma- 
chine. The elements acting in the labor process are therefore not 
merely an aggregation of persons and things, but a system in 
which all things and all persons stand, as it were, at their posts, 
having become adapted to each other. The existence of certain 
means of production implies also the existence of workers to 
manipulate them. Furthermore, the means of production them- 
selves may be distinguished into two great groups: raw materials 
and instruments of labor. Even the instrument of labor (tool) 
performs an active part; with it, the worker works the raw ma- 
terial. The existence in a certain society of certain tools neces- 
sarily implies the existence of the raw material for which these 
tools are intended (of course, in the normal course of reproduc- 
tion). We may therefore definitely state that the system of social 
instruments of labor, i.e., the technology of a certain society, is a 
precise material indicator of the relation between the society and 


116 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


nature. The material productive forces of society and the pro- 
ductivity of social labor will find their expression in this technical 
system. “Relics of bygone instruments of labor possess the same 
importance for the investigation of extinct economical forms of 
society (societies of various types, N. B.) as do fossil bones for 
the determination of extinct species of animals. It is not the 
articles made, but how they are made and by what instruments, 
that enables us to distinguish different economic epochs.” 

The question may also be approached from another angle. The 
“adaptation” of animals to nature consists in an alteration of the 
various organs of these animals: their feet, jaws, fins, etc., which 
constitutes a passive, biological adaptation. But human society 
adapts itself not biologically, but technically, actively, to nature. 
“An instrument of labor is a thing, or a complex of things, which 
the laborer interposes between himself and the subject of his 
labor, and which serves as the conductor of his activity. He makes 
use of the mechanical, physical, and chemical properties of some 
substances in order to make other substances subservient to his 
aims .. . thus nature becomes one of the organs of his activity, 
one that he annexes to his own bodily organs, adding stature to 
himself in spite of the Bible.” * Human society in its technology 
constitutes an artificial system of organs which also are its direct, 
immediate and active adaptation to nature (it may be stated paren- 
thetically that this renders superfluous a direct bodily adaptation 
of man to nature; even as compared with the gorilla, man is a weak 
creature; in his struggle with nature he does not “interpose”’ his 
jaws, but a system of machines). When viewed from this point 
of view, the question leads us to the same conclusion: the tech- 
nical system of society serves as a precise material indicator of 
the relation between society and nature. 


In another passage in Capital, Marx says: “Darwin has interested 
us in the history of Nature’s Technology, 7.e., in the formation of the 
organs of plants and animals, which organs serve as instruments of 
production for sustaining life. Does not the history of the productive 
organs of man, of organs that are the material basis of all social 
organization,. deserve equal attention? . . . Technology discloses man’s 
mode of dealing with Nature, the process of production by which he 
sustains his life, and thereby also lays bare the mode of formation 
of his social relations, and of the mental conceptions that flow from 
them” (Capital, vol. i, Chicago, 1915, p. 406, footnote). “The use 
and fabrication of instruments of labor, although existing in the germ 


7 Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i, pp. 199-200. 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 117 


in certain species of animals, is specifically characteristic of the human 
labor-process, and Franklin therefore defines man as a tool-making 
animal” (ibid., vol. i, p. 200). It is interesting to observe that the 
earliest tools were actually constructed “according to the image” of 
the organs of the human body. “Utilizing the objects found ‘at hand’ 
in the immediate environment, the first tools put in their appearance 
as a prolongation, expansion, or reduction of bodily organs” (Ernst 
Kapp: Grundlinien einer Philosophie der Technik, Braunschweig, 
1877, p. 42). “Blunt tools are anticipated in the human fist, while 
edged tools are anticipated in the finger-nails and the incisor teeth. 
The hammer, with its pene, gives rise to the various forms of axe 
and hatchet; the index finger, held rigid, with its sharp nail, is imi- 
tated in the borer; a single row of teeth is duplicated in file and saw, 
while the gripping hand and the closing jaw are expressed in the 
head of a pair of tongs and in the jaws of the vise. Hammer, axe, 
knife, chisel, borer, saw, tongs—all are primitive tools” (ibid., pp. 43- 
44). “The finger, crooked, becomes a hook; the hollow of the hand, 
a bowl; sword, spear, rudder, shovel, rake, plow, trident, represent the 
various directions and postures of arm, hand and fingers” (ibid., p. 
45). The example of primitive tools also shows how simple instru- 
ments were developed into more intricate ones: “The staff evolves 
into a number of different forms; it becomes a club for purposes of 
vigorous aggression; a pointed stick for turning over the ground; a 
spear for palings and for throwing at game” (Friedrich von Gottl- 
Ottlilienfeld: Wirtschaft und Technik in Grundriss der Nationalékono- 
mie, vol. ii, p. 228). 

The close connection between technology and the so called “cultural 
wealth” is obvious. We need only to compare present-day China and 
Japan. In China—by virtue of a number of circumstances—the pro- 
ductivity of social labor, and the social technology, developed very 
slowly, and China may therefore be considered, for the moment, a 
stagnant civilization. The new capitalist technology will here exert a 
revolutionizing influence. In Japan, on the other hand, great advances 
in technical evolution have been made in recent decades, and Japan’s 
culture has correspondingly developed rapidly; a glance at the state 
of Japanese science will show this. 

In the early Middle Ages, culturally at a lower level than so called 
antiquity, “technology made z great retrogression as compared with an- 
tiquity, and many methods and mechanical inventions of the ancient 
world were forgotten. . . . The sole exception was the technique of 
warfare and the metallurgy of iron connected with that technique” 
(W. K. Agafonov: Modern Technology, in Russian, vol. iii, p. 16). 
Obviously, no cultural accumulation was possible on this technical 
foundation: society’s living sap was too poor to make a “full life” 
possible. The swift growth of Europe coincides with the capitalist 
machine technology; the century 1750-1850 witnessed a revolution in 
technology; steam-engine, steam transportation, coal, machine methods 
in obtaining iron, etc. There followed the application of electricity, 
turbine engines, Diesel motors, the automobile, aviation. The tech- 
nical basis of society, and its productive forces, rose to unprecedented 
heights. Under these circumstances, of course, human society was 
capable of developing a very intricate and versatile ‘mental life’. If 
we examine the ancient civilizations, with their comparatively intri- 
cate mental life, the backwardness of even their technology as compared 


118 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


with the capitalist technology of modern Europe and America is very 
striking. More or less complicated machines were used chiefly for con- 
struction work, water supply systems, and mining. Even the greatest 
establishments came into being not by reason of their perfect in- 
struments, but owing to their use of an immense number of living 
labor forces. ‘‘Herodotus reports that 100,000 men carried stones for 
three months for the pyramid of Cheops (2800 B.c.), and ten years 
had to be spent in the preliminary work of making a road leading 
from the quarries down to the Nile” (Agafonov: ibid., p. 5). The 
comparative poverty of ancient technology is apparent from the defi- 
nition of a “machine”, given by the ancient Roman engineer Vitruvius: 
“A machine is an articulated connection of wood, affording great ad- 
vantages in lifting weights” (zbid., p. 3). These wooden “machines” 
were used chiefly for “raising weights”, but they had to be supplied 
with much human ox animal labor. 


d. The Equilibrium Between Nature and Society; Its Disturbances 
and Readjustments 


Considered as a whole, we find that the process of reproduction 
is a process of constant disturbance and reestablishment of equi- 
librium between society and nature. 

Marx distinguishes between simple reproduction and reproduc- 
tion on an extending scale. 

Let us first consider the case of simple reproduction. We have 
seen that in the process of production, the means of production 
are used up (the raw material is worked over, various auxiliary 
substances are required, such as lubricating oil, rags, etc.; the 
machines themselves, and the buildings in which the work is done, 
as well as all kinds of instruments and their parts, wear out); on 
the other hand, labor power is also exhausted (when people work, 
they also deteriorate, their labor power is used up, and a certain 
expenditure must be incurred in order to reestablish this labor 
power). In order that the process of production may continue, 
it is necessary to reproduce in it and by means of it the substances 
that it consumes. For example, in textile production, cotton is 
consumed as a raw material, while the weaving machinery deteri- 
orates. In order that production may continue, cotton must con- 
tinue to be raised somewhere, and looms to be manufactured. At 
one point the cotton disappears by reason of its transformation 
into fabrics, at another point, fabrics disappear (workers, etc., 
use them) and cotton reappears. At one point, looms are being 
slowly wiped out, while at another they are being produced. In 
other words, the necessary elements of production required in one 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 119 


place must be produced somewhere else; there must be a con- 
stant replacement of everything needed in production; if this re- 
placement proceeds smoothly and at the same rate as the disap- 
pearance, we have a case of simple reproduction, which cor- 
responds to a situation in which the productive social labor re- 
mains uniform, with the productive forces unchanging, and society 
moving neither forward nor backward. It is clear that this is a 
case of stable equilibrium between society and nature. It involves 
constant disturbances of equilibrium (disappearance of products 
in consumption and deterioration) and a constant reestablishment 
of equilibrium (the products reappear) ; but this reestablishment 
is always on the old basis: just as much is produced as has been 
consumed; and again just as much is consumed as has been pro- 
duced, etc., etc. The process of reproduction is here a dance to 
the same old tune. 

But where the productive forces are increasing, the case is dif- 
ferent. Here, as we have seen, a portion of the social labor is 
liberated and devoted to an extension of social production (new 
production branches; extension of old branches). This involves 
not only a replacement of the formerly existing elements of pro- 
duction, but also the insertion of new elements into the new cycle 
of production. Production here does not continue on the same 
path, moving in the same cycle all the time, but increases in scope. 
This is production on an extending scale, in which case equilibrium 
is always established on a new basis; simultaneously with a certain 
consumption proceeds a larger production; consumption conse- 
quently also increases, while production increases still further. 
Equilibrium results in each case in a wider basis; we are now 
dealing with unstable equilibrium with positive indication. 

The third case, finally, is that of a decline in the productive 
forces. In this case, the process of reproduction falls asleep: 
smaller and smaller quantities are reproduced. A certain quan- 
tity is consumed, but reproduction involves a smaller quantity 
still ; less is consumed, and still less is reproduced, etc. Here again, 
reproduction does not repeat the same old cycle in each case; its 
sphere grows narrower and narrower; society’s condition of life 
becomes poorer and poorer. The equilibrium between society and 
nature is reestablished on a level that goes lower and lower each 
time. 

Society meanwhile is adapting itself to this continually nar- 
rowing standard of living, which can only be done by the partial 


120 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


disintegration of society. We are here dealing with unstable 
equilibrium with negative indication. ‘The reproduction in this 
case may be termed negatively extended reproduction, or extended 
insufficiency of production. 

Having discussed the subject from all angles, we have found 
the same result always, each case depending on the character of 
the equilibrium between society and nature. Since the productive 
forces serve as a precise expression of this equilibrium, these 
forces enable us to judge its character. Our remarks would apply 
just as well if we were speaking of the technology of society. 


e. The Productive Forces as the Point of Departure in 
Sociological Analysis 


From all that has been said above, the following scientific law 
results inevitably: any investigation of society, of the conditions 
of its growth, its forms, its content, etc., must begin with an 
analysis of the productive forces, or of the technical bases, of 
society. Let us first take up a few of the objections that are made 
—or might be made—against this view. 

In the first place, let us consider some objections advanced by 
scholars who in general accept the materialist point of view. One 
of these, Heinrich Cunow, says ® that technology “is related to a 
very great extent with the conditions of nature. The presence of 
certain raw materials (das Vorkommen bestimmter Rohmate- 
rialien) determines, for example, whether it is possible for certain 
forms of technology to develop at all, as well as the direction 
which they will take. For instance, where certain species of stone, 
or woods, or ores, or fibers, or shell-fish, are not present, the 
natives of these regions will of course never be able to develop 
of themselves these natural substances, or make tools and weapons 
from them.” At the beginning of this chapter we have already 
adduced data as to the influence of the natural conditions. Why 
should we not begin with these conditions in nature? Why should 
the starting point of our methodology not be nature itself? There 
is no doubt that its influence on technology is as great as Cunow 
says, and, in addition, nature of course existed before society. 
Are we not therefore sinning against true materialism when we 
base it on an analysis of the material technical apparatus of human 
society ? 


8 Die Neue Zeit, vol. 30, part ii, pp. 350 et seq. 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 121 


However, a close examination of the question will show how 
erroneous are Cunow’s conclusions. ‘To be sure, where there are 
no deposits of coal, no coal can be dug from the ground. But, 
we might also add, you can’t dig it out with your fingers either; 
and it will be somewhat hard to make use of it if you don’t know 
its useful qualities. “Raw materials”, in fact, do not “exist” in 
nature as Cunow says. “Raw materials” according to Marx are 
products of labor, and they have as little existence in the bowels 
of nature as has a painting by Raphael or Herr Cunow’s waistcoat 
(Cunow is here confusing “raw materials’ with all sorts of 
“objects of labor’). Cunow completely forgets that a certain 
stage of technology must have been reached before wood, or, 
fibers, etc., may play the part of raw materials. Coal becomes 
a raw material only when technology has developed so far as to 
delve in the bowels of the earth and drag their contents into the 
light of day. The influence of nature, in the sense of providing 
materials, etc., is itself a product of the development of tech- 
nology ; before technology had conquered coal, coal had no “influ- 
ence” at all. Before technology with its feelers had reached the 
iron-ore, this iron-ore was permitted to sleep its eternal slumber; \ 
its influence on man was zero. 

Human society works in nature and on nature, as the subject 
of its labor. But the elements existing as such in nature are here 
more or less constant and therefore cannot explain changes. It is 
the social technology which changes, which adapts itself to that 
which exists in nature (there is no possibility of adapting oneself 
to empty space; it is the cannon, and not the hole, that is manu- 
factured). Technology is a varying quantity, and precisely its 
variations produce the changes in the relations between society 
and nature; technology therefore must constitute a point of de- 
parture in an analysis of social changes.° 


L. Mechnikov expresses this idea very stupidly: “Far be it from 
me to give support to the theory of geographical fatalism, which is 
often opposed as a propagating principle of the all-determining in- 
fluence of the environment in history. In my opinion. . . the changes 
must be sought not in the environment itself, but in the mutual rela- 


9 “TF, on the other hand, the subject of labor has, so to say, been filtered 
through previous labor, we call it raw material. All raw material is the 
subject of labor, but not every subject of labor is raw material.” (Capital, 
vol. i, p. 199.) 


10 Cunow’s mistakes do not prevent him from raising a number of very 
appropriate objections to Gorter, P. Barth, and others, who confuse the 
method of production with technology. We shall discuss this subject later, 


122 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


tions arising between the environment and the natural capacities of its 
inhabitants for cooperation and team work of a social order (my 
italics, V. B.). It follows that the historical value of one geographical 
environment or another—even assuming that it remain physically un- 
changed under all circumstances—can and must vary with the degree 
of capacity of its inhabitants for voluntary team work’ (Mechnikov, 
ibid., pp. 27, 28). All of which does not prevent Mechnikov himself 
from overestimating “geography”. (Cf. Plekhanov’s criticism in the 
collection Criticism of Our Critics.) The passive character of the 
influence of nature is now recognized by almost all geographers, 
although bourgeois scholars of this type of course know nothing of 
historical materialism. Thus, John McFarlane (Economic Geography, 
London) writes concerning the “natural conditions of economic ac- 
tivity” (chap. i): “These physical factors ... do not determine the 
economic life absolutely, but they do have an influence upon it, which 
is unquestionably more noticeable in the earlier stage of human his- 
tory, but which is just as real in the advanced civilizations, after man 
has learned to adapt himself to his environment and to draw, more 
and more, an increased benefit from it.” The role played by coal, 
and the dependence of our industry upon it, are well known. As the 
technique of winning and working peat changes, the significance of 
coal may decrease, and this would involve an immense dislocation of 
the industrial centers. The progress of electrification assigned a more 
important role to aluminium, formerly of subsidiary importance. 
Water as a form of power was once of great importance (the mill- 
wheel, then declining, and now again rising; turbines, ‘white coal’). 
Space relations in nature remain the same; but distances are decreased 
for men by the use of transportation devices; the development of 
aviation is changing the picture still more. 

‘This influence of transportation (a very variable quantity, depending 
on technology) is of decisive importance even in the geographic loca- 
tion of industry. Extremely interesting observations on this point 
are to be found in Alfred Weber’s “Theory of the Location of In- 
dustry”, in his Industrielle Standortslehre in Grundriss, pp. 58, 59, e¢ 
seqg., Section vi; also in Weber’s Uber den Standort der Industrien, 
part i: Reine Theorie des Standortes, 1909. 

A poetic expression of the growing power of man over nature, his 
active power, is given by Goethe in his poem “Prometheus”: 


Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus, 
With clouds of mist, 

And, like the boy who lops 

The thistles’ heads, 

Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks; 
Yet thou must leave 

My earth still standing; 

My cottage, too, which was not raised by thee; 
Leave me my hearth, 

Whose kindly glow 

By thee is envied. 


(Translated by Edgar Alfred Bowring, The Poems of Goethe, New 
York, 1881, pp. 191, 192.) 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 123 


It is therefore obvious that the differences in the natural conditions 
will explain the different evolution of the different nations, but not 
the course followed by the evolution of one and the same society. The 
natural differences, when these nations combine into a society, later 
become a basis for the social division of labor. “It is not the absolute 
fruitfulness of the soil, but its differentiation, the manifoldness of its 
natural products, which constitutes the basis of the social division of 
labor, and which spurs man on, to the multiplication of his own needs, 
abilities, instruments and modes of labor, owing to changes in the 
natural circumstances in which he dwells” (Marx, Capital, vol. i). 


Another group of objections to the conception of social develop- 
ment that we have advanced above is based on the decisive and 
fundamental importance of the growth of population. For the 
tendency to multiplication is ineradicably present in human nature, 
where it has existed since before the beginnings of history. This 
tendency is of animal, biological nature; it is older than human 
society. Does not this process stand at the beginning of the entire 
evolution? Does not the increasing fruitfulness and density of 
the population determine the course of social evolution? 

Actually, this would be reasoning backward along a law of 
nature, for it is on the stage of development of the productive 
forces, or, what amounts to the same thing, on the stage of tech- 
nical development, that the very possibility of a numerical growth 
of population depends. A more or less continuous increase in pop- 
ulation is nothing more nor less than an extension and growth of 
the social system, which is possible only when the relation between 
society and nature has been altered in a favorable direction. It is 
not possible for a greater number of persons to live unless the 
bases of life are widened. On the other hand, an impoverishment 
of these bases of life will inevitably express itself in a smaller 
population. The question of how this happens is another matter : 
whether it is by a lowering of the birth rate, or by its artificial 
regulation, or by a process of dying out, by an increase in the 
mortality from diseases, by a premature exhaustion of the organ- 
isms and a decrease in the average length of life; the fact remains 
that this fundamental relation between the bases of the life of 
society and the quantity of its population will express itself in one 
way or another. 

Besides, it is entirely erroneous to represent the growth of 
population as a purely biological (“natural”) process of multi- 
plication. This process depends on any number of social con- 
ditions: on the division into classes, the position of these classes, 
and consequently, on the forms of the social economy. Now, the 


124 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


forms of society, its structure, as we shall show below, depend 
on the level reached in the evolution of its productive forces. It is 
quite clear that the relation between the growth of technology 
and the movement of population, 7.e., alterations in its number, 
are not at all simple. Only naive persons could imagine that the 
process of multiplication proceeds as primitively and simply among 
human beings as among animals. For example, for an increase 
of population, in society, it is always necessary that the productive 
forces should be increased, otherwise, as we have already shown, 
the excess population will have nothing to eat. And, on the other 
hand, an increase in material well-being does not always and in all 
classes produce a more rapid multiplication: while the proletarian 
family may be artificially limiting the number of its children be- 
cause of the hard conditions of life, a society lady may be renounc- 
ing motherhood in order not to spoil her figure, while a French 
peasant wishes to have no more than two children because he does 
not want his farms to be divided up. The movement of popula- 
tion is therefore a result of a number of social conditions, and is 
dependent on the form of society and on the situation of the 
various classes and groups within society. 

We may therefore make the following statement with regard 
to population; an increase in the population indisputably presup- 
poses an increase in the productive forces of society ; in the second 
place, each epoch, each form of society, the varying situations of 
the various classes, result in special laws for the movement of 
population. “An abstract law of population exists for plants and 
animals only, and only in so far as man has not interfered with 
them”; ... “every special historic mode of production has its 
own special laws of population, historically valid within its limits 
alone”.1t_ But the historic mode of production, i.e., the form of 
society, is determined by the development of the productive forces, 
1.e., the development of technology. We thus see that the absence 
of natural law in the movement of population is a decisive factor, 
while the growth of the productive forces, and the uniformity of 
this growth (or decline), of themselves determine the movement 
of population. 


The bourgeoisie has repeatedly attempted to replace the social laws 
by means of “laws” showing the necessity of the divinely ordained 
poverty of the masses, and that this condition is independent of the 
social order. It is to this effort that we must trace the overestimating 

11 Capital, vol. i, p. 693. 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 125 


of “geography”, etc., in the doctrine of environment, natural phe- 
nomena being dragged in by the ears in order to explain historical 
events. Thus, Ernst Miller “proved” the dependence of historical 
evolution on terrestrial magnetism; Jevons “explained” industrial 
crises by means of sun-spots, etc. Here belongs also the famous 
attempt of the English clergyman economist, Robert Malthus, to ex- 
plain the discomforts of the working class on the basis of man’s 
sinful desire for multiplication. Malthus’ “abstract law of popula- 
tion” is formulated in the thesis that population grows more rapidly 
than the means of subsistence; the latter increase in arithmetical pro- 
gression while the population increases in geometrical progression. 
Among modern scientists, the conceptions of bourgeois scholars are 
undergoing radical changes, and Malthus’ theory is now in disfavor; 
this is due to the fact that (first in France, then in other countries 
also) the increase in population is so slow that the bourgeoisie fears 
a lack of able-bodied soldiers (cannon-fodder), and therefore attempts 
to encourage the working class to produce more children. 

The Physiocrats were already aware of the dependence of popula- 
tion increases on the stage reached by the productive forces. Le 
Mercier de la Riviere (L’ordre naturel et essentiel des sociétés poli- 
tiques, 1767, pp. 5, 6) says: “If men should nourish themselves with 
products furnished by the earth itself ... without any preliminary 
labor, an immense extent of area would be required for the subsistence 
of even a small number of persons; but we know from experience that 
by reason of our natural constitution (l’ordre physique de notre con- 
stitution) we tend to multiply considerably. This natural property 
would be a contradiction, a discord in nature... if the natural order 
of reproduction of the means of subsistence did not permit them to 
multiply to the same extent as we do.’ (My italics, N. B.) Further 
on, we read: “I am not at all afraid of the arguments that will be 
brought to bear against me, based on certain American tribes, in order 
to prove that the natural order of births makes cultivation unneces- 
sary. I know there are some tribes that have practically no culti- 
vation (ne cultivent point ou presque point) of the soil; yet, though 
soil and climate are equally favorable to them, they destroy their 
children, kill their old, and make use of medicaments to prevent the 
natural course of birth.” Ernst Grosse (Formen der Familie und 
Formen der Wirtschaft, 1896, p. 36) says among other things: “The 
Bushmen and the Australians are accustomed, for a good cause, to 
wear ‘hunger-belts’. The Patagonians suffer need practically always, 
And in the tales of the Eskimos, famine plays ...a great role.... 
A population limited to such imperfect production can of course 
never become very numerous. ... Therefore, primitive hunters 
usually see to it themselves that their numbers shall not exceed what 
can be fed with the available foodstuffs. Infanticide with this pur- 
pose is very common in Australia. A large child mortality takes 
care of the rest.”—“We even hear, of tribes in the Polynesian Islands, 
that they have regulations permitting only a minimum of children 
to each family, a fine being imposed for violations.” (P. Mombert: 
Bevolkerungslehre in Grundriss der Sozialékonomie, part ii, Tiibingen, 
1914, p. 62.) Mombert mentions the following facts after describing 
the economic advance in the Carolingian Era (transition to the three- 
field system, etc.): “As a consequence of this great expansion in the 
production of foodstuffs, we meet with an exceptionally large in- 


126 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


crease of population in Germany” (p. 64). In the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury, Europe presents an immense advance in the field of agricultural 
production, ‘accompanied by a great increase in the European popu- 
lation, far exceeding any such increase in the past” (p. 64). There 
ensues a period in which the increase in population, due to the above 
cause, moves faster than the increase in the means of subsistence. 
The result is: emigration to America. The same law may be observed 
in Russia (cf. the studies of M. N. Pokrovsky). 


We must finally point out a number of other objections to the 
theory of historical materialism, namely, those theories that are 
known as “racial theories”. These theories may be described as 
follows: society consists of men; these men do not appear always 
the same in history, but different; they have different skulls, dif- 
ferent brains, different skin and hair, different physical structure, 
and consequently, different abilities. It is clear that at the banquet 
of history there will be many called but few chosen. Some races 
have shown themselves to be “historical”, for the names of these 
races re-echo over the world, and the professors of all the univer- 
sities concern themselves with them; other races, the “lower races”, 
are by nature capable of nothing; they cannot produce anything 
of note; at bottom, they constitute a historical nonentity; these 
races are not worthy of the name “historical races”. They may 
serve at best as a fertilizer for history, as the peoples of colonies, 
as “savages” of various kinds, tilling the soil for European bour- 
geois civilization. It is this difference of race that is the true 
reason for the differing evolution of society. Race must be the 
point of departure in the discussion of evolution. Such, in broad 
outline, is the race theory. On the subject of this theory, G. V. 
Plekhanov made the following perfectly correct observation: “In 
considering the question of the cause of a certain historical phe- 
nomenon, sensible and serious people often content themselves 
with solutions which solve nothing at all, being merely a repetition 
of the question in other forms of expression. Suppose you put 
one of the above mentioned questions to a ‘scholar’; ask him why 
certain races develop with such remarkable slowness, while others 
advance rapidly on the path of civilization. Your ‘scholar’ will 
not hesitate to reply that this phenomenon is to be explained by 
racial qualities. Can you see any sense in such an answer? Cer- 
tain races develop slowly because it is a racial quality with them 
to develop slowly; others become civilized very rapidly, because 
their principal racial characteristic is the ability to become civilized 
very rapidly.” 1? 

12.4 Criticism of Our Critics (in Russian), St. Petersburg, 1906, p. 283. 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 127 


In the first place, the race theory is in contradiction with the 
facts. The “lowest’’ race, that which is said to be incapable, by 
nature, of any development, is the black race, the Negroes. Yet 
it has been shown that the ancient representatives of this black 
race, the so called Kushites, created a very high civilization in 
India (before the days of the Hindoos) and Egypt; the yellow 
race, which now also enjoys but slight favor, also created a high 
civilization in China, far superior in its day to the then existing 
civilizations of white men; the white men were then children as 
compared with the yellow men. We now know how much the 
ancient Greeks borrowed from the Assyro-Babylonians and the 
Egyptians. These few facts are sufficient to show that the “racial” 
explanation is no explanation at all. It may be replied: perhaps 
you were right, but will you go so far as to say that the average 
Negro stands at the same level, in his abilities, as the average 
European? There is no sense in answering such a question with 
benevolent subterfuges, as certain liberal professors sometimes do, 
to the effect that all men are of course equal, that according to 
Kant, the human personality is in itself a final consideration, or 
that Christ taught that there are no Hellenes, or Jews, etc.1* To 
aspire to equality between races is one thing; to admit the simi- 
larity of their qualities is another. We aspire to that which does 
not exist; otherwise we are attempting to force doors that are 
already open. We are now not concerned with the question: what 
must be our aim? We are considering the question of whether 
there is a difference between the level, cultural and otherwise, of 
white men and black men, on the whole. There is such a differ- 
ence; the “white” men are at present on a higher level, but this 
only goes to show that at present these so called races have changed 
places. 

This is a complete refutation of the theory of race. At bottom, 
this theory always reduces itself to the peculiarities of races, to 
their immemorial “character”. If such were the case, this “char- 
acter” would have expressed itself in the same way in all the 
periods of history. The obvious inference is that the “nature” of 
the races is constantly changing with the conditions of their exist- 
ence. But these conditions are determined by nothing more nor 
less than the relation between society and nature, i,e,, the condition 


18 Cf. for example, Khvostov, Theory of the Historical Process, p. 247: 
“It is extremely probable that . . . the truth is on the side of the advocates 
of race equality.” 


128 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of the productive forces. In other words, the theory of race does 
not in the slightest manner explain the conditions of social evolu- 
tion. Here also it is evident that the analysis must begin with 
the movement of the productive forces. 


There is great disagreement among scholars concerning race and 
race subdivisions. Topinard (quoted by Mechnikov, ibid., p. 54) cor- 
rectly remarks that the designation “race” is being used for quite 
subsidiary purposes, for instance, we hear of an Indo-Germanic, Latin, 
Teutonic, Slavic, English, race, although all these designations mark 
accidental aggregates of the most varied anthropological elements. 
In Asia, the races were mixed so often and so thoroughly that the 
race which is characteristic of original Asiatic conditions is perhaps 
to be sought beyond the Pacific Ocean or at the Arctic Circle. In 
Africa, the same process was frequently repeated. In America, where 
a similar condition may be observed in historical times, we find no 
primitive races, but only the results of endless mixtures and cross- 
breedings. Eduard Meyer very convincingly observes: ‘As for the 
question of race, it is of course possible that the human race appeared 
at its origin in a number of varieties, or was subdivided into such at 
an early epoch; I am incompetent to judge of this. But it is abso- 
lutely certain that all the human races are constantly mingling... 
that a sharp line may not be drawn between them—the tribes of the 
Nile Valley are a typical example—and that so called pure racial 
types may be found only in places where certain tribes have been kept 
in a condition of artificial isolation owing to external circumstances, 
as, for example, on the islands of Borneo and Australia. But there 
is no justification for the assumption that we are dealing with primi- 
tive natural conditions of the human race even here; it seems far more 
probable that this homogeneity, on the contrary, is the result of iso- 
lation” (ibid., pp. 74, 75). Professor R. Michels (Wirtschaft und 
Rasse, in Grundriss der Sozialokonomie, part ii, p. 98 et seq.), gives 
a number of interesting examples, excellently showing the mutability 
of so called race traits, in the field of labor. For example: the power 
of resistance of Chinese workers is very high, enabling them to bear 
heavy burdens; thence the widespread use of Chinese coolies. But 
it is quite clear that the “burdens” imposed upon the coolies are a 
result, in part, of a semi-colonial enslavement. Negroes are con- 
sidered poor workers, but a French proverb says: “I have worked 
like a negro” (j’at travaillé comme un négre). Negroes rarely be- 
came employers, perhaps because they were boycotted by the whites, 
etc. The examples in the domain of national differences are even 
more interesting: “When the first railroads were built in Germany, 
a German uttered the warning that railroads were of no value in 
view of the German national character, which—thank God !—was ex- 
pressed in the splendid principle of. festina lente (‘make haste 
slowly”) ; railroads could be of use perhaps to a different race, a dif- 
ferent mode of life, a different mode of thought. Kant rebuked the 
Italians for their practical-mindedness, for their highly developed 
banking system; yet today we know that other regions take precedence 
of Italy in this respect,” etc. Michels draws the absolutely correct 
conclusion “that the degree of economic utility of any people is about 
equivalent to the degree of technical and moral-intellectual ‘civiliza- 
tion’ attained by it at the given moment” (p. Ior). 


SOCIETY AND NATURE 129 


The adherents of the race theory succeeded in making their most 
absurd statements during the World War, which they attempted to ex- 
plain as a race conflict, although the absolute ridiculousness of this 
notion was manifest to any person in his sound mind; for the Serbs, 
allied with the Japanese, were fighting the Bulgarians; the English, 
allied with the Russians, were fighting the Germans. Gumplowicz 
is considered the principal advocate of the race theory in sociology. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


The books named after the previous chapters; also: L. Mechnikov: 
Civilization and the Great Historical Rivers (in Russian). P. Maslov: 
Entwicklungstheorie der Volkswirtschaft. P. Maslov: Die Agrarfrage, 
vol. i. P. Maslov: Kapitalismus. N. Bukharin: Die Oekonomik der 
Transformationsperiode, chap. vi. Cunow: Die Stellung der Technik 
in der Marxschen Wirtschaftsauffassung (Die Neue Zeit, vol. 39, part 
ii, no. 15). Rosa Luxemburg: Die Akkumulation des Kapitals (on the 
process of reproduction). Karl Kautsky: Entwicklung und Vermeh- 
rung in Natur und Gesellschaft. Karl Kautsky: Are the Jews a Race? 


VI. THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN THE ELEMENTS 
Oe SO CUE LY: 


a. Connection between the Various Social Phenomena; 
Formulation of the Question 


In our discussion of the equilibrium between society and nature, 
we found that this equilibrium is being constantly disturbed and 
constantly reestablished, that there it is subject to contradictions 
which are constantly overcome and then set up anew, and then 
again overcome, and that this constitutes the fundamental course 
of social evolution or social decline. We must therefore give some 
attention to this “internal life” of society. 

In discussions as to the relative standard of social evolution, 
we often hear such judgments as: “the degree of social evolution is 
determined by the quantity of soap used”; others measure the 
stage of this advance by the extent of the ability to read and write; 
still others, by the number of newspapers; a fourth group, by the 
state of technical progress; a fifth group, by the stage of develop- 
ment of the sciences, etc. A German professor (Schulze-Gaever- 
nitz; see his book Volkswirtschaftliche Studien aus Russland) has 
advanced the proposition that the stage of civilization is best indi- 
cated by the manner of constructing toilet conveniences. We find 
that beginning with the latter and rising to the most sublime 
products of the human mind, everything has been used as a stand- 
ard by which to measure the stage of social development. 

Where is the truth? Whose yardstick is the true yardstick? 
Why have there been so many different answers to this single 
question? 

A consideration of all the above answers will show that each 
of them is more or less correct. Does not the use of soap increase 
with the growth of “culture and civilization’? It does; so does 
the number of newspapers, or the social technology, or science. 
At any given time, the social phenomena of the period are always 
related with each other; just what this relation is, is another ques- 
tion, which we shall discuss very soon. But that there is such a 
relation no one can doubt; that is why all of the above answers are 

130 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 131 


right. Just as the age of a man may be approximately determined 
on the basis of the structure and hardness’of his bones, or on the 
appearance of his face (his color, wrinkles, growth of hair, etc.), 
or his mode of thought, or his mode of linguistic expression, so 
we may also judge the stage of growth of society on the basis of 
a number of indications, for all these indications are connected 
with other indications, and with still others, etc. If we stand face 
to face with beautiful products of art, or complicated systems of 
science, we rightly declare that these things could not be produced 
except in a highly developed society. We should make the same 
remark in the presence of a rich and complicated technology, and 
our remark would be just as correct. The fact that the most 
varied social phenomena are connected, are mutually conditioned, 
is almost self-evident. A series of simple questions will convince 
the reader immediately. Was futurist poetry possible, for example, 
a century ago? No, it was not. Could Eskimos living on the ice 
have invented wireless telegraphy? Is it possible for present-day 
science to predict man’s fate from the stars? Could Marxism 
have originated in the Middle Ages? It is obvious that all these 
things are impossible. Futurism could not have appeared one 
hundred years ago, because life was then calmer and quieter; 
futurism grew up in pavemented cities, with their noise and racket, 
their nervous exhaustion, in the militaristic turmoil of a dissolving 
bourgeois civilization. This poetry of the brazen blare could no 
more have grown up one hundred years ago than ivy could grow 
on a recently tarred roof. Eskimos living on the ice could not 
have invented the wireless telegraph, for they cannot even handle 
an ordinary telegraph instrument. Present-day science does not 
occupy itself with such idiosyncrasies as reading the stars, because 
science at its present level despises these things. Marxism could 
not have begun in the Middle Ages, because the proletariat was 
not yet in existence, and therefore there was no soil in which the 
Marxist theory could grow. Now we have a highly developed 
technology, a proletariat, a great number of newspapers, adver- 
tising on a tremendous scale, trusts, futurism, aeroplanes, the 
electron theory, Mr. Rockefeller’s dividends, strikes of coal-miners; 
the Communist Party, the League of Nations, the Third Inter- 
national, electrification projects, armies consisting of millions, 
Lloyd George, Lenin, etc.; and all these things are manifestations 
of the same period, the same epoch, just as we may also regard 
as manifestations of another epoch (the Middle Ages) all of the 


132 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


following: the power of the Popes at Rome, a comparatively low 
level of technology, compulsory labor of peasant serfs, science in 
the hands of priests (scholastic philosophy), the search for the 
philosopher’s stone (which would turn base metals into gold, etc.), 
the inquisition, poor roads, illiteracy even among kings, village- 
commons, witches, trade guilds, dog Latin (spoken and written by 
scholars), robber knights, etc. Lenin, Lloyd George, Krupp, these 
have no place in the Middle Ages. And, on the other hand, we 
do not expect to find on the Red Square in Moscow, a medieval 
tournament with knights doing each other to death for the favor 
of a lady’s smile. “Other times, other songbirds; other song- 
birds, other songs.” There is no doubt of the general connection 
between social phenomena, of the “adaptation” of certain social 
phenomena to others, in other words, of the existence of a certain 
equilibrium within society between its elements, its component 
parts, between the various forms of social phenomena. 


Auguste Comte already stated that the various phases of social life 
are always adapted to each other at any period (the so called con- 
sensus). Miiller-Lyer (Phasen der Kultur, Miinchen, p. 344) states 
this even more clearly: ‘Any sociological function, any cultural phe- 
nomenon, for instance, art, science, manners, economy, state organiza- 
tion, freedom of the individual, philosophy; the social position of 
woman, etc., down to the use of soap, and the like, may be taken as 
the measure of the cultural level. And, if all the cultural phenomena 
should develop parallel to each other and at the same rate, it would 
not matter which of these criteria should be applied.” One of the 
latest writers of the hard-pressed German bourgeoisie, Oswald 
Spengler (Der Untergang des Abendlandes, Miinchen, 1920, vol. i, 
p. 8), writes: “How many people know that there is a profound 
relation in form between the differential calculus and the dynastic state 
principle of the epoch of Louis XIV, between the ancient state form 
of the polis (in Greece) and Euclidean Geometry, between the per- 
spective drawing of western painting and the conquest of space by 
railroads, telephones, and long-range guns, between contrapuntal in- 
strumentation in music and the economic credit system?” Spengler’s 
formulation may be disputed, but there is no doubt of the correctness 
2; ue thought: that the most varied social phenomena are inter- 
related. 


b. Things, Persons, Ideas 


We defined society above as an aggregation of persons. In the 
broader sense, however, society also includes things. Present-day 
society, for instance, with its vast stone cities, its giant structures, 
its railroads, harbors, machines, houses, etc.; all these things are 
material technical “organs” of society. Any specific machine will 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 133 


at once lose its significance as a machine outside of human society; 
it becomes merely a portion of external nature, a combination of 
pieces of steel, wood, etc. When a great liner sinks to the bottom, 
this living monster with its powerful engines that cause the whole 
marvelous structure of steel to vibrate, with its thousands of appli- 
ances of every possible kind, from dish-rags to wireless station, 
now lies at the bottom of the sea and the whole mechanism loses 
its social significance. Barnacles will attach themselves to its body, 
its wood constructions will rot in the water, crabs and other animals 
will live in the cabins, but the steamer ceases to be a steamer; 
having lost its social existence, it is excluded from society, has 
ceased to be a portion of society, to perform its social service, and 
is now merely an object—no longer a social object—like any other 
part of external nature which does not come in direct contact with 
human society. Technical devices are not merely pieces of external 
nature: they are extensions of society’s organs; we may therefore 
take a broader view of society than we have thus far done; we 
may make it include also things, 7.e., society’s technical apparatus, 
its system of working devices. Strictly speaking, not all things 
are included among the means of production; some may even have 
a very remote relation with this production, aside from the fact 
that they themselves constitute products of material production: 
for example, books, maps, diagrams, museums, picture galleries, 
libraries, astronomical observatories, meteorological stations (we 
always speak of their “physical equipment”), laboratories, mea- 
suring instruments, telescopes and microscopes of every kind, test- 
tubes, retorts, etc. All these things are not directly connected with 
the process of material production and consequently are not a 
part of social technology, may not be considered among the mate- 
rial productive forces ; nevertheless, everyone knows their function; 
they are not merely sections of external nature; they also have their 
“social existence’; they also must be included under our concept 
of society in its broader application. 

We have seen in chapter iv that society constitutes a system 
of persons considered together; now we see that things must also 
be so considered. But, in. the narrower sense of the word, we 
understand by “society” not merely the aggregate of persons in- 
volved, but the connected system. We first regarded these persons 
as material bodies at work. Society therefore, as we have ex- 
plained, is above all a working organization, a human working 
apparatus. But we know very well that human beings are not 


134 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


merely physical bodies, they think, feel, wish, pursue goals and 
are constantly changing in their thoughts and desires. The rela- 
tions between persons are not only material working relations, but 
also psychical relations, “mental” relations; society produces not 
only material objects: it also produces the so called “cultural 
values” : art, science, etc.; in other words, it produces ideas in addi- 
tion to things. These ideas, once they have been produced, may 
be developed into large systems of ideas. 

The trinity of elements in society therefore includes: things, 
persons, ideas. We must by no means assume that these are inde- 
pendent elements: it is, of course, clear that if there were no people 
there would be no ideas, that ideas exist only in people and do not 
swim about in space like oil on the surface of water. But this 
does not prevent us from distinguishing these three elements; it is 
likewise clear that there must be a certain equilibrium between 
the three elements. Roughly speaking: society could not exist, 
unless the system of things, the system of persons, and the system 
of ideas were adapted each to the other. We shall have to go into 
this more in detail; we shall then understand the relation between 
phenomena that is so manifest on the surface, and concerning 
which we spoke in the preceding paragraph. 


~¢. Social Technology and the Economic Structure of Soctety 


We have already pointed out that in a consideration of social 
phenomena it is necessary to begin with the social, material pro- 
ductive forces, with the social technology, the system of tools of 
labor. We may now supplement these remarks. In speaking of 
the social technology, we of course meant not a certain tool, or 
the aggregate of different tools, but the whole system of these 
tools in society. We must imagine that in a given society, in 
various places, but in a certain order, there are distributed looms 
and motors, instruments and apparatus, simple and complicated 
tools. In some places they are crowded close together (for in- 
stance, in the great industrial centers), in other places, other tools 
are scattered. But at any given moment, if people are connected 
by a labor relation, if we have a society, all these instruments of 
production—tools and machines, large and small, simple and com- 
plicated, manual or power-driven—are united into a single system. 
(Of course, a certain type of tool is always predominant: at the 
present time this is the type of machines and mechanisms, while 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 135 


formerly it was that of hand tools; the significance of apparatus 
and self-acting machinery is increasing more and more.) In other 
words, we may consider the social technology as a whole, in which 
each of the parts at a given moment is socially necessary (inevi- 
table). Why may it be so considered? Wherein lies the unity 
of all the parts of the technical system of society? 

In order to grasp this matter fully, let us suppose that on a 
certain day—let us say, in modern Germany, all the machines 
serving the purposes of coal mining should miraculously ascend 
to heaven. The result would be a cessation of practically the 
entire industrial life. It would be impossible to obtain fuel for 
factories and shops; all the machines and instruments in these 
factories would stop working, 1.e., would be eliminated from the 
process of production. The technology of one branch would thus 
influence practically all the other branches. As a matter of fact, 
the various branches of production constitute a whole, not only in 
our thoughts, but objectively, in reality; they make up a single 
social technology. The social technology, we reiterate, is not there- 
fore a mere aggregate of the various instruments of labor, but is 
their connecting system. On any individual part of this system 
depends all the rest of the system. At any given moment, also, 
the various parts of this technology are related in a certain pro- 
portion, a certain quantitative relation. If, in a certain factory, we 
must have a certain number of spindles and a certain number of 
workers to provide material for a certain number of looms, the 
more or less normal progress of social production throughout 
society will also involve the presence of a certain definite relation 
between the number of blast furnaces and the number of machines 
and mechanical tools in metallurgy, as well as in the textile indus- 
try, the chemical industry, or any other industry. To be sure, this 
relation may not be precisely fixed, as in a single factory; but 
between the “technological systems” of the various branches of 
production there does exist a certain necessary relation, which 
may in unorganized society be the result of a blind natural process, 
while in organized society it is the result of a conscious process; 
but it exists in all society. It is inconceivable, for instance, that 
a factory should have ten times as many spindles as it needs; it is 
likewise inconceivable that ten times as much coal should be mined 
as is needed, and that the machines and appliances used in mining 
coal should be ten times as numerous as is required in order to 
supply the other branches of production. Thus, as there is a 


136 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


definite relation and a definite proportion between the various 
branches of production; there is also in social technology a certain 
definite relation between its parts as well as a definite prevailing 
proportion. This circumstance changes the mere aggregate of 
tools, machines, instruments, etc., into a system of social tech- 
nology. 

This being the case, it is also clear that each given system of 
social technology also determines the system of labor relations 
between persons. 

Is it conceivable, for instance, that the technological system of 
society, the structure of its tools, should be along certain lines, 
while the structure of human relations should be along entirely 
different lines? More concretely: is it possible that the tech- 
nological system of society should be based on machines, while 
the productive relation, the actual labor relation, should be based 
on petty industry working with hand tools? Of course, this is an 
impossibility ; wherever a society exists, there must be a certain 
equilibrium between its technology and its economy, 1.e., between 
the totality of its instruments of labor and its working organiza- 
tion, between its material productive devices and its material human 
labor system. 

Let us explain by means of an example, namely, by means of a 
comparison between so called “ancient society” and present-day 
capitalist society ; let us begin with technology. Albert Neuburger, 
who is inclined more to exaggerate than belittle the accomplish- 
ments of ancient technology, says: “Aristotle in his Problems of 
Mechanics enumerates for us the auxiliary mechanical devices 
made use of in ancient times. They include only the following: 
the draw-well (lever with counter-weight), the equal-armed bal- 
ance, the unequal-armed, or Roman balance (steelyard), the tongs, 
the wedge, the axe, the windlass, the cylindrical roller, the wagon- 
wheel, the shaft, the pulley, the sling, the rudder, the potter’s 
wheel, as well as revolving wheels of copper or iron with dif- 
ferent directions of revolution, which very probably are equivalent 
to our toothed wheels (gear-wheels).” 

These are the most rudimentary technical appliances, otherwise 
known as “simple machines” (lever, inclined plane, tongs, rollers). 

t is obvious that not much advance was possible with such devices, 
which were used chiefly in the working of metals. It is clear that 
only the metallic skeleton of the productive forces constitutes the 


1 Die Technik des Alteriums, Voigtlanders Verlag, Leipzig, 1919, p. 206. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 187 


first permanent basis for their development. Yet, of the metals 
worked, gold was the most important ; the greater quantity of metal 
was used for the manufacture of objects intended for non-produc- 
tive consumption. The sole exception is blacksmith work, by 
means of which rather primitive tools were produced with the aid 
of hammer, anvil, tongs, file, vise, and other comparatively simple 
instruments (producing principally axes, hammers, hoes, horse- 
shoes, nails, chains, pitchforks, shovels, spoons, etc.) ; the casting 
of metals stood chiefly in the service of turning out statues and 
other non-productive objects. It is therefore not surprising to 
learn that Vitruvius defines a “machine” as a “device made of 
wood”, 

“For whole centuries technology stood still,” says Salvioli,? of 
course not meaning an absolute stagnation, but an extremely slow 
development of ancient technology. | 

These technical devices naturally also determined the type of 
worker, the degree of his skill, and also the working relations, 
the productive conditions, 

There could only be one type of worker under such a technology: 
a hand worker, a petty artisan. Blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, 
weavers, goldsmiths, miners, wagon-builders, saddlers, harness- 
makers, lathe-workers, silversmiths, potters, dyers, tanners, glass- 
makers, locksmiths, etc., etc., such are the types of productive 
workers. Thus, the social technology conditioned the character 
of the living working machinery, 7.¢., the type of worker, his labor 
“skill”. But this technology also conditioned the relation between 
the persons at work. As a matter of fact, because we see here 
enumerated a number of types of workers, it is plain that we are 
dealing with a division of production into a number of branches, 
each one of which produces only a single type of worker. This 
is called the division of labor. 

The cause of this division of labor was the existence of corre- 
sponding labor tools. But this division of labor was of a peculiar 
kind: “The division of labor could not here lead to the results 
which it has had in modern societies, for in ancient times this 
division was not a function of the machine process. It was not an 
outgrowth of a system of great factories (de grandes usines), but 


2 Der Kapitalismus im Aliertum, p. 101. 

8 Gustave Glotz: Le travail dans la Gréce ancienne, Paris, Felix Alcan, 
1920, pp. 265-276; Paul Louis: Le travail dans le monde romain, Paris, 1912, 
PP. 234-244. 


138 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of petty and medium-sized industry.”* “Large-scale production 
was foreign to the ancient world, which never advanced beyond the 
stage of petty artisanry.”® Here is a different form of productive 
labor conditions, also based, as we have seen, on the system of 
technology. Even when we learn of great structures being raised, 
we must remember that they were often accomplished by means 
of petty labor. Thus, in the case of the construction of one of the 
great aqueducts at Rome, the government signed a contract with 
three thousand master masons; these worked together with their 
slaves. And in cases where production was on a comparatively 
large scale, it could, under the prevailing system of technology, 
exist only by making use of forces lying outside the economic 
system: for instance, slave labor, whole armies of slaves being 
imported after the conclusion of victorious wars, who were sold 
and distributed to the great estates and the slave-operated factories 
(ergastula). Under a different system of technology, slave labor 
would have been impossible: the slaves spoil delicate machinery, 
and slave labor does not pay. Thus, even such a phenomenon as 
the labor of imported slaves can be explained, under the given 
historical conditions, by the tools with which social labor works. 
Or, to take another example: we know that, in spite of the rather 
high development of commercial-capitalist conditions in ancient 
times, the economy of that period was on the whole a natural 
economy (payments in commodities, in kind, rather than in money). 
People were not in close economic relations; the exchange of com- 
modities was much less developed than in our day; great quan- 
tities of products were turned out in the great estates (latifundia) 
and in jail-like shops, for their own consumption. This is also a 
definite stage of labor, a form of productive relation, and again 
the explanation is evident: it can be explained on the basis of the 
low development of the productive forces, the weakness of tech- 
nology. Under such a technical system, it was difficult to attain 
a great excess production. In a word, it is evident that the rela- 
tions between people in the labor process are determined by the 
stage of advance in the evolution of technology; the ancient econ- 
omy was, as it were, adapted to the ancient technology. 

Let us compare this condition with that under capitalist society. 
Taking up, in the first place, the matter of technology, it is suffi- 
cient to cast a glance over a list of some of the branches of pro- 


* Glotz, op. cit., p. 275 
5 Salvioli, op. cit., p. 131 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 139 


duction. 
industry 


Let us consider only two of the groups of capitalist 


: the construction of machinery,. instruments and appa- 


ratus, as one branch, and the electro-technical industry, as another 


branch. 


Here is the picture that presents itself: 


I. Manufacture of machines, instruments and apparatus 


a. 


rh ® Ou 


Gea pmo m*09 


power machines 
1. locomotives 
2. stationary engines 
3. other power machines 


b. manipulating machinery in general use 


I. machines for working metals, wood, stone, and other 
materials 

2. pumps 

3. lifting cranes and carrying machines 

4. other machines 

manipulating machinery in various special branches 

I. spinning machinery 

2. agricultural machinery 

3. special machinery for the obtaining of raw materials 

4. special machinery for the manufacture of arms and 
ammunition 

5. special machinery for turning out delicate products 

6. manufacture of various kinds of machines 


. repair-shop machinery 
. boilers, appliances and inventory 


I. steam boilers 
2. boilers, appliances, and inventory for special branches 
(excluding working machinery) 


. machine instruments and machine parts 


I. machine tools 
2. machine parts 


. mill construction 

. ship-building and the construction of marine machinery 

. the construction of airships and aeroplanes, and their parts 
. gas tanks 

. production of vehicles 


1. bicycles, and their parts 

2. motor-cars 

3. railroad cars 

4. wagon-building and carriage-building 

5. production of other means of transportation, not in- 
cluding water and air transportation 


. manufacture of clocks and watches, and their parts 
. production of musical instruments 


I. production of pianos 
2. production of other musical instruments 


. optical and other delicate mechanical devices, also the prep- 


aration of zoological and microscopical specimens 

1. the preparation of optical and delicate mechanical in- 
struments, including cameras and other photographic 
apparatus 


140 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


2. the production of surgical instruments and apparatus 
3. the production of zoological and microscopical apparatus 
o. the production of globes and lamps (except such as are con- 
nected with the electrical industry ) 

II. Electrical Industry 

. manufacture of dynamos and electro-motors 

. manufacture of storage batteries and other batteries. 

. manufacture of cables and insulated wire 

. manufacture of electrical measuring instruments, counters 

and clocks 

. manufacture of electrical apparatus and installation inventory 

. manufacture of lamps and searchlights 

manufacture of electrical medical machinery 

. manufacture of weak current apparatus 

. manufacture of electrical insulating devices 

. manufacture of electrical products of great establishments 

. repair stations for electrical products of all kinds.® 


A000 oD 


Pte eee OQ bh OD 


It is sufficient to compare this list with the “machines” spoken 
of by Aristotle or Vitruvius, to understand the tremendous dif- 
ference between the technology of ancient society and that of 
modern capitalist society. “Just as the ancient technology deter- 
mined the ancient form of economy, so capitalist technology de- 
termines the present-day capitalist economy. If we could enu- 
merate the entire population, let us say, of ancient Rome and of 
present-day Berlin or London, and divide these populations into 
trades, by their actual occupations, the profound gulf that sepa- 
rates us from ancient times would become apparent. We now have 
(as a result of our machine technology) types of workers that 
never existed in ancient times. Instead of the petty artisans (for 
instance, the fabri ferrarii),” we now find, in our society, elec- 
tricians, machinists, machine constructors, boiler-makers, engine- 
lathe workers, frazers, optical instrument makers, compositors, 
lithographers, railroad workers, locomotive engineers, firemen, 
steam-hammer attendants, harvesting machinery workers, mowing 
machinery workers, sheaf-binding machinery workers, tractor re- 
pairers, electrical engineers, chemists, specialists on steam-boilers, 
linotypers, etc., etc. These types of workers did not exist even in 
name, for no corresponding branch of production, and conse- 
quently no appropriate tools of labor, existed in this field in ancient 
times. But even if we take up those species of workers whose 
names are still the same and who existed in earlier days, we shall 
find that there is again a great difference. For instance, what is 

® Rudolf Meerwarth: Einleitung in die Wirtschaftsstatistik, Jena, Gustav 


Fischer, 1920, pp. 43, 44. 
7 Artisans working with iron. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 141 


there in common between the present-day weaver who works in 
a great textile factory and the artisan or slave weaver in ancient 
Greece or Rome? The latter would feel as much out of place ina 
modern factory as would Julius Cesar in a New York subway 
train. We have different labor forces, of different labor skill. 
Our labor forces are the product of a different technology, and 
they have become adapted to that technology. 

The existence of a great number of industrial branches which 
were not present in earlier times results chiefly in the fact that 
the division of labor today is entirely different. But the division 
of labor constitutes one of the fundamental conditions of produc- 
tion. The modern division of labor is determined by the modern 
instruments of labor, by the character, description, and combination 
of machines and tools, 1.e., by the technical apparatus of capitalist 
society. The typical form of a modern industrial establishment is 
that of the large factory. We no longer have the small production 
unit, the artisan industry, nor even the domestic industry of the 
latifundium owner; we have instead a gigantic organization em- 
bracing thousands of persons, distributed to their various posts 
in a definite order, and performing their allotted tasks. If, as an 
example of a capitalist enterprise, we take Mr. Ford’s automobile 
factory in Detroit, its emphatically modern character is the first 
trait to strike the eye: a precise division of labor, much machinery, 
operating automatically under the supervision of the workers, the 
strict adherence to a correct succession of operations, etc. Parts 
of the product are carried along by slowly moving belts or plat- 
forms, and the various types of workers at their machines execute 
their specific tasks on the partly finished articles as they go by. 
The entire labor process has been calculated down to the second. 
Each displacement of the worker, each motion of hand or foot, 
each inclination of the body, all have been foreseen. The “staff” 
supervises the general course of the work; everything goes by the 
clock, or rather, the chronometer. Such is the division of labor 
and its “scientific efficiency” according to the Taylor system. Such 
a factory, if we consider its human structure, 7.e., the relations 
between the individuals composing it, also constitutes a productive 
relation, in which the distribution of persons and their relation 
with each other are determined by the system of machinery, the 
combinations of machines, the technology, the organization of the 
factory inventory. 


“The present development of technology must be considered as the 


142 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


dominating factor in the organization of labor. ... The machine 
does not stand alone in the factory; all the machines are arranged in 
groups; they are related to each other or connected in their operations. 
The transfer of a job from one machine to another... in the eyes 
of the technical supervisor, is a calculable quantity. The labor plan, 
the distribution of location in labor, transportation, are likewise pre- 
cisely regulated, made automatic, standardized ...and gradually 
changed into a precisely calculated mechanism of operative admin- 
istration. . . . In the general system of this movement of things, the 
movement of man turned out (also his influence on others) ... often 
to be a determining oasis . . . there arose a system of scientific move- 
ment” (A. Gastev: Our Tasks—Labor Organization, in the Annual of 
the Labor Institute, No. 1, Moscow, 1921, pp. 12, 13, in Russian). An 
idea of the many branches of work in the great metal factories will be 
given by the branches found in Russian factories: mechanical, elec- 
trical, blacksmith, boiler, molding, casting steel, iron foundry, iron 
rolling, heating metals, Martin blast furnaces, Siemens ovens, cruci- 
bles, carriages, chemical treatment of wood, construction work, 
auxiliary operations. The following categories of workers were found 
in the Putilov Works in 1914-1916: locksmiths, lathe-workers, milling 
machine workers, planers, chiselers, borers, welders, stampers, assem- 
blers, blacksmiths, hammerers, pressers, pointers, stokers, furnace 
foremen, rollers, machinists, cutters, potters, molders, smelting furnace 
workers, paperers, joiners, carpenters, painters, tinsmiths, plumbers, 
cable workers, unskilled workers, men and women (cf. Metal Workers’ 
Gazette, St. Petersburg, 1917, p. 13, in Russian). Many of the names 
of these occupations show that they are bound to a specific instrument, 
tool, or machine. Jn a certain combination of these working instru- 
ments, in their distribution in the plant, a certain distribution of men 
ts also involved, the latter being determined by the former. 


Precisely as the production relations in ancient Greece or Rome 
were an outgrowth of the system of technology characteristic of 
petty and medium production, so the conditions of large-scale 
production in modern times are a result of the modern technology. 
Here again, there is a relative equilibrium between the social tech- 
nology and the social economy. 

We have above observed that the poor technology of ancient 
times resulted in a poor exchange process, and that the economy 
remained for the most part economy in kind: the relation between 
the economies was very loose; such were the definite production 
relations of antiquity. But modern capitalist technology permits 
the sending forth of huge quantities of products. The division of 
labor also has its influence in causing the entire production to be 
made for the market. For the manufacturer does not himself 
wear the millions of pairs of suspenders turned out by his factory. 
Therefore, the production conditions of the commodities economy 
are also a consequence of the technology of our day. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 143 


We have approached the question from four different angles: 
first, the nature of the labor forces; second, the distribution of 
labor between them; third, the extent of production, i.e., of the 
organization of individuals in the various economies; fourth, the 
relations between these various economies; and in every case we 
have seen from the example of the two different societies chosen 
(the ancient and the modern) that the combinations of the imstru- 
ments of labor (the social technology) are the deciding factor in 
the combinations and relations of men, i.e., in social economy. But 
there is another phase of the production relations, namely, the 
question of the social classes, which is to be discussed later in 
detail; let us consider this question now from the standpoint of 
the production relations. 

In considering the relations of men in the production process, 
we observe everywhere (except in the so called primitive com- 
munism) that the groupings of men are not accomplished in such 
manner as to cause the various groups to lie in a horizontal line, 
but rather in a vertical line. For example, in the conditions of 
medieval serfdom, we find at the top the owners of the estates, 
under them the adiministrators, mayors, supervisors, and at the 
bottom the peasants. In capitalist production relations we find 
that men are not only distributed among molders, machinists, rail- 
road workers, tobacco workers, etc., all of whom—in spite of the 
great differences between their tasks—are working along the same 
lines—occupying the same relative station in production; but we 
find that here too a number of persons stand above the others in 
the labor process: above the workers are the “salaried employees” 
(the medium-grade technical staff: master mechanics, engineers, 
specialists, agricultural experts, etc.) ; above these “salaried men” 
stand the higher officials (superintendents, directors) ; above them 
are the so called owners of enterprises, capitalists, the commanders- 
in-chief and controllers of the destinies of the production process. 
Let us also consider the latifundium of a rich Roman landlord. 
Here again we find a regular gradation of persons; on the lowest 
rung of the ladder are the slaves (“the speaking instruments”, 
instrumenta vocalia, as the Romans termed them, as distinguished 
from the “semi-speaking instruments”, instrumenta semi-vocalia, 
namely, bleating cattle, and the “mute instruments”, instrumenta 
muta, inanimate objects) ; above the slaves stand the slave drivers, 
overseers, etc.; then come the superintendents; finally we have the 
owner of the latifundium himself, with his honored family (his 


144 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


wife usually had charge of certain domestic operations). A blind 
man can see that we are dealing with differently constituted rela- 
tions between persons at work. All the persons enumerated par- 
ticipate in one way or another in the labor process and therefore 
have certain definite relations to each other. In classifying them, 
we may divide them according to their trades and callings; but we 
may also divide them according to their classes. If our division 
is on the basis of occupations or callings, we shall have blacksmiths, 
locksmiths, lathe-workers, etc. In the higher class, chemists, 
mechanics, boiler-engineers, textile experts, locomotive specialists, 
etc. It is obvious that the locksmiths, lathe-workers, machine- 
workers, stevedores, are in one class, while the engineer, the spe- 
cialist, etc., are in another class; the capitalist, who has control of 
all, is again in another class. These persons cannot all be thrown 
into the same pot. In spite of the division between the work per- 
formed by the locksmith; the turner and the compositor, they all 
stand in the same relation to each other in the general labor 
process. Quite different is the relation between locksmith and 
engineer, or between locksmith and capitalist. Furthermore, the 
locksmith, turner, linotyper, individually and as a body, are in the 
same relation to all the engineers and in the same remoter relation 
to all superintendents, “captains of industry’, capitalists. The 
greatest differences here are in the productive function, in the 
productive significance, in the character of the relations between 
men; the capitalist in his factory distributes and arranges his 
workers as he might things or tools; but the workers do not “dis- 
tribute” the capitalists (under the capitalist system of society) ; 
they “are distributed” by these capitalists. This is a relation of 
“master and servant”, as Marx says, with “capital in command”. 
It is their different function in the production process that con- 
stitutes the basis for the division of men into different social 
classes. 

An important point to be noted here is the nature of the relation 
between the process of production and that of distribution, since 
we have seen that the latter is, so to speak, the reverse side of the 
social process of production. ; 

Concerning this subject of the process of distribution, Marx says 
the following: “In the most shallow conception of distribution, 
the latter appears as a distribution of products and to that extent 
as further removed from and quasi-independent of production. 
But before distribution means distribution of products, it is, first. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 145 


a distribution of the means of production, and, second, what is 
practically another wording of the same fact, it is a distribution 
of the members of society among the various kinds of production 
(the subjection of individuals to certain conditions of production). 
The distribution of products is manifestly a result of this distri- 
bution, which is bound up with the process of production and de- 
termines the very organization of the latter. To treat of produc- 
tion apart from the distribution which is comprised in it, is plainly 
an idle abstraction. Conversely, we know the character of the 
distribution of products the moment we are given the nature of 
that other distribution which forms originally a factor of pro- 
duction” (A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, 
Chicago, 1913, p. 286). 

These sentences of Marx deserve more of our attention. 

We find, first of all, that the process of the production of prod- 
ucts determines the process of the distribution of products. If, 
for example, production is carried on in independent establish- 
ments (by various capitalist enterprises, or by individual artisans), 
each establishment no longer producing all of its requirements, 
but turning out some special product (watches, grain, iron locks, 
hammers, tongs, etc., as the case may be), it is obvious that the 
distribution of the product will take the form of exchange. Per- 
sons producing locks cannot clothe themselves in such locks or 
consume them for dinner, nor can persons producing grain lock 
their barns with grain; they must have locks and keys for this 
purpose. The manner of production which is followed also deter- 
mines the manner of distributing the product; this distribution 
may not be considered as independent of production. On the 
contrary, it is determined by production and, together with it, con- 
stitutes a section of material social reproduction. 

But production itself involves two further “distributions” : first, 
the distribution of persons, their arrangement in the production 
process, depending on their function, as already discussed; second, 
the distribution of production tools among these persons. These 
two “distributions” are a part of production or, in the words of 
Marx, are “involved” in production. We have seen, for example, 
in one of the systems of society discussed, namely, capitalist 
society, that its “distribution of persons” also includes a division 
into classes, based on the difference of function in the productive 
process. But this varying “distribution of persons”, depending 
on their varying assignment in production is also connected with a 


146 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


distribution of the means of labor: The capitalist, the owner of the 
latifundium, and the estate owner control these means of labor 
(factory and machinery, the estate and the compulsory shops, the 
soil and structures), while the worker has no instruments of pro- 
duction aside from his own labor power; the slave does not even 
own his own body, nor does the peasant serf. It is therefore 
obvious that the varying function of classes in production is based 
on the distribution of instruments of production among them. In 
his review of Marx’s book, A Contribution to the Critique of 
Political Economy, Engels says: ® “Economy deals not with things 
but with relations between persons and in the last analysis between 
classes; but these relations always are bound up with things and 
appear as things.’ For example, the current class relations in 
capitalist society, namely, the relations between capitalists and 
workers, are bound up with a thing: the instruments of production 
in the hands of the capitalists, controlled by the latter, not owned 
by the workers. These instruments of production serve the capi- 
talists as tools for the obtaining of profits, as means of exploiting 
the working class. They are not mere things, they are things in 
a special social significance, in that they here serve not only as 
means of production, but also as a means of exploiting wage 
laborers. In other words, this thing expresses the relation between 
‘classes, or, in the words of Engels, these class relations are bound 
up with the thing. In the last analysis, this thing, in our example, 
is capital. 

The special form of production relations, therefore, existing in 
the relations between classes, is determined by the varying function 
of these groups of persons in the production process, and the 
distribution of the means of production among them. This fully 
conditions the distribution of the products. 

The capitalist obtains profit because he owns instruments of 
production: because he is a capitalist. 

The class relations in production, i.e., the relations bound up 
with the varying distribution of the means of production, are 
particularly important in society. It is they which determine in 
the first place the outline of society, its system or, in the words 
of Marx, its economic structure. 

Now, the production relations are extremely numerous and 
varied. If we recall, furthermore, that we are considering the 
distribution of products as a portion of reproduction, it also be- 


8 Die Neue Zeit, vol. 39, part i, p. 420. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 147 


comes clear that the relations between persons in the process of 
distribution are also included in the production relations. In a 
complicated system of society there are innumerable such relations, 
such as, between merchants, bankers, clerks, brokers, tradesmen 
of all kinds, workers, consumers, salesmen, traveling salesmen, 
messengers, manufacturers, ship-owners, sailors, engineers, un- 
skilled workers, etc., etc., which all constitute production relations. 
All are interwoven in the most varied combinations, the most 
peculiar patterns, the most unusual confusions. But the funda- 
mental scheme of all these patterns is important; namely, the rela- 
tions between the great groups known as social classes. The 
system of society will depend on the classes included in society, 
their mutual position, their functions in the production process, 
the distribution of instruments of labor. We have a capitalist 
society if the capitalist is on top; we have a slave system if the 
estate owner is on top, and in control of everything; we have a 
dictatorship of the proletariat if the workers are on top. To be 
sure, even the absence of all classes would not mean the disappear- 
ance of society, but merely the disappearance of class society. 
There were no classes, for example, in the primitive communist 
society, nor will there be any in the communist society of the 
future. 

We observed above that the production relations change with 
the social technology; a glance at the actual historical development 
of any society will be sufficient to show that this principle also 
holds good in such production relations as are simultaneously class 
relations. Great shifts of classes have taken place, for instance, 
before the eyes of the present generation. Not many decades ago, 
there was still a considerable class of independent artisans, which 
subsequently declined because of the growth of the machine tech- 
nology, and, consequently of large-scale production, of the factory 
system. Simultaneously, the proletariat increased, as did also the 
industrial upper bourgeoisie, while the small artisan disappeared. 
The class alignment necessarily changed, for with the changes in 
technology there are also associated changes in the distribution of 
labor in society; certain functions in production disappear or fall 
into the background; new functions arise, etc., simultaneously, 
class groups are altered; in a society having a low stage of the 
productive forces, industry will not be highly developed, while 
the social economy will still be rural and agricultural in character. 
It will not surprise us to find the rural classes predominating in 


148 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


such a society, with the class of country squires standing at the 
head. On the other hand, in a society with highly developed pro- 
ductive forces, we shall find a mighty industry, cities, factories, 
villages, etc., with the urban classes attaining great influence. The 
landed proprietor yields place to the industrial bourgeoisie or other 
sections of the bourgeoisie; the proletariat becomes a great power. 

A constantly progressing realignment of classes may totally 
change the form of society. This will particularly be the case if 
the class at the bottom comes out on top, a process which is to be 
described in the following chapters. For the present we shall 
merely state that class relations also—the most important part of 
production relations—change with the changes in the productive 
forces. “These social relations between the producers, and the 
conditions under which they exchange their activities and share 
in the total act of production, will naturally vary according to the 
character of the means of production. With the discovery of a 
new instrument of warfare, the firearm, the whole internal organ- 
ization of the army was necessarily altered, the relations within 
which individuals compose an army and can work as an army were 
transformed, and the relation of different armies to one another 
was likewise changed. We thus see that the social relations within 
_ which individuals produce, the social relations of production, are 
altered, transformed, with the change and development of the 
material means of production, of the forces of production” (Karl 
Marx: Wage-Labor and Capital, New York, Labor News Com- 
pany, 1917, pp. 35, 36). In other words: “The organization of 
any specific society is determined by the condition of its productive 
forces. With an alteration of this condition, the social organi- 
‘zation also will necessarily change sooner or later. Social organiza- 
' tion is therefore in unstable equilibrium ® at all points where the 
social forces of production are growing” *° (or falling, N.B.). 

The totality of the production relations, therefore, is the eco- 
nomic structure of society, or its mode of production. This is the 
human labor apparatus of society, its “real basis”. 


A consideration of the production relations will show that they 
depend on the manner in which the persons involved are distributed 
in space. The relation is expressed in the fact that each person— 
as already shown, has his place as a screw in the mechanism of a 


® Readers who are displeased with the “theory of equilibrium” should 


note this terminology. 
10G. Plekhanov: On the Materialistic Interpretation of History, in A 
Criticism of Our Critics (in Russian), p. 324. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 149 


watch. It is precisely this definite situation in space, in the “theater 
of labor” that makes of this arrangement, this distribution, a social 
relation of labor. No doubt, every object is situated in space, moves 
in space, but here men are joined, particularly, by the definiteness of 
their working positions, as it were. This is a material relation like 
that of the parts in the mechanism of a watch. We must not over- 
look the fact that the critics of historical materialism are constantly 
confusing terms because the word “material” has a number of mean- 
ings. Thus, the historical process, for instance, is traced back to 
material ‘‘needs” or “interests”, whereupon the refutation of historical 
materialism is proclaimed, since it has been rightly shown that “in- 
terest” is not a material thing in the philosophical sense of the word, 
but obviously psychical. We admit that interest is not matter; but 
it is too bad that even certain “advocates” of historical materialism 
(who usually associate Marx with some bourgeois philosopher, since 
they are opposed to philosophical materialism) are guilty of such a 
confusion in terms. Max Adler, for instance, who weds Marx to 
Kant, regards society as a totality of psychical interactions; for him 
everything is psychical. Here is a specimen of this nature: “A 
relation is, however, by no means ‘matter’ in the sense of philo- 
sophical materialism, which puts matter on the same level with psychic 
substances. It is always difficult to find a relation between the ‘eco- 
nomic structure’, ‘the material element’ of historical materialism, and 
the ‘matter’ of the former theory, no matter how this theory be un- 
derstood . . . and what is true of the cause is also true of the effect. 
Instruments of production are rather products of the ‘human mind’.” 
(Max Zetterbaum: Zur materialistischen Geschichtsauffassung in Die 
Neue Zeit, vol. 21, part ii, p. 403.) Zetterbaum is confused by the 
fact that machines are not made by soulless men. But as men them- 
selves are not begotten by corpses, he considers everything in society 
to be a product of spirit without body—a very virtuous spirit there- 
fore. It follows that the machine is psychical, and society has no 
“matter”. But is obvious that sinful flesh is somewhere involved, 
for even a sinless spirit could not beget men and machines, Further- 
more, a fleshless spirit would not even desire to occupy himself with 
such affairs. What remains of the “relation”? We must again point 
out to Herr Zetterbaum that the solar system is a material system; 
that we call it a system because its parts (sun, earth, other planets) 
are in definite welations to each other, occupy a certain position in 
space at any given moment. Just as the totality of planets, in certain 
relations with each other, constitutes the solar system, so the totality 
of persons in production relations constitutes the economic structure 
of society, its material basis, its personal apparatus. Kautsky, who 
sometimes confuses technology and economy most sinfully, also makes 
some very vulnerable statements. All such claims may be answered 
by the following passage from the arch-bourgeois, Werner Sombart, 
This professor, who is quite free from materialism, tells us: ‘Figura. 
tively speaking, the economic life may be considered as an organism 
consisting of a body and a soul. The external forms of the opera- 
tions of the economic life are its body; the forms of economic and 
factory operation, the most varied organizations within which and with 
the aid of which the economic process continues.” (Werner Sombart: 
Der Bourgeois, Miinchen and Leipzig, 1913, pp. 1, 2.) Of course, 
the entire economic structure of society must be included under the 


150 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


head of economic form and economic organization, being therefore, 
“figuratively speaking”, the body of this society. 


d. The Outlines of the Superstructure 


Among the remaining phases of social life which we must now 
consider are such phenomena as the social and political system of 
society (the state, the organization of classes, parties, etc.) ; man- 
ners, customs and morals (the social norms of human conduct) ; 
science and philosophy; religion, art, and finally, language, the 
means of communication between men. These phenomena, except- 
ing the social and political system, are frequently referred to as 
our “mental” or “spiritual culture’. 


The word culture comes from a Latin verb meaning “to cultivate”. 
Culture therefore means everything that is the work of human hands, 
in the wider sense, 1.e., everything produced by social man in one form 
or another. ‘Mental culture” is also a product of the social life, is 
included in the general life-process of society. It cannot be under- 
stood unless it be interpreted as a portion of this general life-process. 
Yet, certain bourgeois scholars would isolate this “mental culture” 
absolutely from the life-process of society, 7.e., they would deify it, 
make it an entity independent of the body, a disembodied spirit. Thus, 
Alfred Weber (Der soziologische Kulturbegriff, in Verhandlungen 
des gweiten deutschen Soztologentages, Tubingen, 1913), who con- 
siders the expansion of social life, its intricacy and wealth, as a proc- 
ess of external civilization, writes: “But we feel today that culture 
is superior to all these things; that culture means something different 
to us.... Only when... life, rising above its necessities and utili- 
ties, has assumed a higher level than these things, only then have we 
a culture” (pp. 10, 11; Weber’s italics). In other words, culture is 
a portion of life, but is not determined by the necessities and utilities 
of life, z.e., it transcends the bounds of society, is not conditioned by 
this society. It is obvious that such a point of view would lead to 
a renunciation of science and an acceptance of faith. Note that 
Weber’s chief proof is the fact that “we feel”. 


A useful transition to a consideration of this “mental culture” 
is a study, in broad outline, of the social and political structure of 
society, which is directly determined, as we shall see, by its eco- 
nomic structure. MS 

The most obvious expression of the social and political structure 
of society is the state power, which will be understood if we under- 
stand the necessary condition for the existence of a society of 
classes. For in such a society the various classes must have dif- 
ferent interests. Some possess all; others, practically nothing; 
some are in command, and appropriate to themselves the products 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 151 


of the work of others; others obey, carry out the commands of 
strangers, and yield up what they have produced with their own 
hands. The position of the classes in production and distribution, 
t.e., the condition of their existence is their function in society, 
“their social being”, results also in the growth of a specific con- 
sciousness. As everything in the universe is the result of the con- 
ditions that bring it about, the various situations of the classes 
must result in a difference in their interests, aspirations, struggles, 
even in their death struggles. It is interesting to observe the 
nature of the equilibrium existing in the structure of a society of 
classes. The fact that such a society, in which, in the words of 
an English statesman, there are in reality two “nations” (classes), 
can exist at all, without danger of disintegrating at any moment, 
is of itself very striking. 

Yet there is no doubt of the existence of class societies. In 
some way or other, a_unifying bond has been attained in such 
societies, a sort of hoop holding together the staves of the barrel; 
this hoop is the state, an organization of all society, with its threads, 
retaining them all in the system of its tentacles. If we should 
ask how the state originates, we should not be satisfied with any 
answer attributing a supernatural origin to the state, nor with any 
declaration that the state stands beyond all classes; for the simple 
reason that classless persons do not exist in a class society. There 
would therefore be no material with which to construct an organ- 
ization standing outside of all classes or above all classes, no mat- 
ter how often this may be asserted by bourgeois scholars. The 
organization of the state is altogether an organization of the “ruling 
class”. 

It now becomes of interest to determine which is the ruling class, 
for we shall then understand which class is represented by the 
state power, which subjugates all the other classes by means of 
its strength, its force, its mental system, its widely ramified appa- 
ratus. The question is not difficult to answer. In capitalist society, 
we find the capitalist class dominant in production; it would be 
absurd to expect to find the proletariat permanently dominant in 
the state, for one of the fundamental conditions of equilibrium 
would now be lacking; either the proletariat would also seize con- 
trol of production, or the bourgeoisie would seize the state power. 
The existence of a society with a specific.economic structure also 
involves the adaptation of its state organization; in other words, 
the economic structure of society also determines its state and 


152 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


political structure. The state, furthermore, is a huge organization 
embracing an entire nation and ruling many millions of men. 
This organization needs a whole army of employees, officials, sol- 
diers, officers, legislators, jurists, ministers, judges, generals, etc., 
etc., and embraces great layers of human beings, one superimposed 
on the other. This structure is a precise reflection of the con- 
ditions in production. In capitalist society, for example, the bour- 
geoisie is in control of production, and therefore also of the state. 
Following upon the manufacturer comes the factory superintendent 
himself, often a capitalist; the same is true of the ministers of a 
capitalist state, its politicians in high places. From these circles 
are recruited the generals for the army; the intermediate positions 
in production are filled by the technical specialist, the engineer, the 
technical mental worker ; these mental workers occupy the posts of 
intermediate officials in the state apparatus; they often furnish the 
army officers. The lower employees, as well as the soldiers, are 
furnished by the working class. Of course, there are many fluctu- 
ations, but the structure of the state authority corresponds closely, 
on the whole, to the structure of society. 

If we should assume, for a moment, that by a miracle the lower 
employees had raised themselves above the higher employees, our 
assumption would involve a loss of equilibrium in the whole of 
society, 7.e., a revolution. But such a revolution also cannot take 
place unless corresponding alterations have already been accom- 
plished in production. Here also it 1s apparent that the structure 
of the state apparatus itself reflects the economic structure, i.e., 
the same classes occupy relatively the same positions. 


Let us give a few examples from various times and places. In 
ancient Egypt, the administration of production was practically iden- 
tical with that of the state, the great landlords heading both. An 
important fraction of production was that turned out by the landlord 
state. The role of the social groups in production coincided with 
their caste, with whether they were higher, middle, or lower officials 
of the state, or slaves (Otto Neurath: Antike Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 
Leipzig, 1909, p. 8). “The families of the ‘great’ are of course land- 
holding families, but they are also, above all, a bureaucratic nobility.” 
(Max Weber: Agrarverhiltnisse im Altertum, in Handbuch der 
Staatswissenschaften, vol. i.) Sometimes the combination of state 
authority and leadership in production was emphatically formulated. 
In the Fifteenth Century, the banking house of the Medici ruled the 
Italian trade-capitalist Republic of Florence: “The Bank of the 
Medici and the Florentine State Treasury were identical. The bank- 
suptcy of this commercial firm occurred at the same moment as the 
collapse of the Florentine Republic’ (M. Pokrovsky: Economic Ma- 


——_—————————_ 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 153 


terialism, Moscow, 1906, p. 27, in Russian). In the second half of 
the Eighteenth Century, the landlords were dominant in Russian pro- 
duction, ruling over the peasant serfs. These landlords therefore 
also controlled the state, being specially organized as a privileged no- 
bility. When the peasants rose under Pugachov, the landlord-empress 
Catherine II served as an incarnation of the existing state power, 
when she aided—as “landholder of Kazan’—in forming a cavalry 
regiment for putting down this “rabble”, wherewith she aroused a 
veritable storm of imperial fidelity among the Kazan landlords. Her 
frequent association with French free-thinking philosophers did not 
prevent Catherine from introducing serfdom into Ukraine, a contrast 
which has been well stated by A. Tolstoi: 

“The great population 

In your lands 

Longs for Freedom 

From your hands. 

Then spake she full of noble zeal: 

Messieurs, vous me comblez, 

Whereupon she extended serfdom 

-To cover Ukraine also.” 

In the United States, financial capital, a clique of bankers and trust 
magnates, is dominant in production; they also control the state power 
to such an extent that congressional decisions are not made before they 
have been most thoroughly discussed behind the scenes by combined 
capital. 


But the social and political structure of society is not limited to 
the state authority. The ruling class, as well as the oppressed 
classes, present the most varied organizations and forms of com- 
mon action. Each class usually has its vanguard, consisting of 
its most “class-conscious’ members, and constituting the political 
parties competing for domination in society. Usually, the ruling 
class, the oppressed classes, and the “middle classes”, each have 
their specific party. Since there are various groups existing within 
each class, it is obvious that a class may have a number of parties, 
though the most permanent and fundamental of its interests can 
be expressed only in one party. Besides the regularly organized 
bodies, there may be a number of other bodies: the present-day 
American capitalists, for example, have not only organizations to 
combat the workers, but also special organizations for election 
manipulations (Tammany Hall, for example) and organizations 
for recruiting strike-breakers, organizations of industrial spies 
(the Pinkerton and other detective agencies), the secret groups 
of the most influential capitalist firms and the most powerful 
politicians, following strictly conspirative methods; the official 
state organs always carry out the will of these bodies. In Russia, 
there was an auxiliary organization of the state of the landed 


154 _ HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


proprietors, namely, the semi-criminal band of the “Black Hun- 
dred” which had affiliations with the reigning Romanov dynasty. 
This role was played in Italy, in 1921, by the Fascisti, and in Ger- 
many by the Orgesch.11 The oppressed classes also have a number 
of economic organizations in addition to their parties (for in- 
stance, the trade unions), not to mention fighting organizations 
and clubs, in which we may include such bodies as the “bands” 
of Stenka Razin or Pugachov.!? In short, all organizations waging 
the class war, from the jeunesse dorée of the German student fra- 
ternities up to the state power itself, on the one hand—from the 
party to the club, on the other hand; all these are a portion of the 
social and political structure of society. Their basis is as clear as 
day; their existence is a reflection and an expression of classes; 
here also economy conditions politics. 

In our consideration of this “political superstructure”, we can- 
not afford to lose sight of the fact that—as the above examples 
alone would show—this political superstructure is not merely a 
personal apparatus. It consists, for all society, of a combination 
of things, persons, and ideas. For instance, in the state apparatus, 
we have a specific apparatus of things, a specific hierarchy, a cer- 
tain specific system of ideas (procedure, laws, ordinances, etc.), 
etc. In the case of the army, which is a portion of the state, we 
have a special “technology” (cannons, rifles, machine-guns, com- 
missary supplies), its specific arrangement of men, “distributed” in 
a certain way, and its own “ideas”, which have been insinuated 
into the minds of all the members of the army by means of a com- 
plicated military drill and a special educational apparatus (spirit 
of subordination, discipline, etc.). Viewed from this angle, the 
picture of the army will suggest the following inferences. The 
technology of the army is determined by the general technology of 
productive labor in the given society; cannons cannot be manu- 
factured before the casting of steel has been learnt, 7.¢., before 
the necessary means of production have been obtained. The dis- 
tribution of persons, the structure of the army, depends on the mili- 
tary science and also the class alignment of society. On the exist- 
ence of weapons, and on the nature of these weapons, depends 


11 An abbreviation for Organisation Escherich TRANSLATOR. 

12 The names of leaders in Russian Cossack and peasant revolutions 
against the Muscovite Tsars in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, 
respectively. The name of Stenka (diminutive of Stepan) Razin is par- 
ticularly popular in Russian folk poetry as that of a national liberator or 
robber chief.—TRANSLATOR 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 155 


the division of the army into artillery, infantry, engineers, cavalry, 
sappers, etc.; on this will depend what types of soldiers, superiors, 
persons with special functions (for example, telephone operators) 
are present in the army. On the other hand, the class alignment 
of society will determine from what social layer the staff of officers 
is recruited; by the representatives of what class the actions of 
the army are controlled, etc.; finally, the specific mental attitudes 
with which the army is imbued are conditioned, on the one hand, 
by the army structure (memorizing regulations, cadavre obedi- 
ence, etc.), and on the other hand by the class structure of society. 
In the Tsar’s army the slogan was “Obey the Tsar”, “For God, 
Emperor and Fatherland”; in the Red Army the slogan is: 
“Preserve discipline in order to protect the workers against the 
imperialists.” These examples are sufficient to show that the 
social and political superstructure is a complicated thing, consist- 
ing of different elements, which are interrelated. On the whole, 
this structure is determined by the class outline of society, a struc- 
ture which in turn depends on the productive forces, 1.e., on the 
social technology. Certain of these elements are directly, dependent 
on technology (“the art of war’); others depend on the class 
character of society (its economy), as well as on the technology 
of the superstructure itself (“army management”). All the ele- 
ments of the superstructure are therefore directly or indirectly 
based on the stage that has been reached by the social productive 
forces. 


A special place among human organizations is held by the organ- 
ization of the family, i.e., the living together of men, women, and 
children. This clan organization, which was constantly changing, was 
based on certain economic conditions. ‘The family, also, is not only 
a social, but preeminently an economic formation, based on the division 
of labor between man and woman, on ‘sexual differentiation’... . 
Primitive marriage is nothing else than the expression of this eco- 
nomic union.” (Miuller-Lyer, ibid., p. 150; cf. Marx: Capital, vol. i, 
Chicago, 1915, p. 386: “Within a single family ... there arises a 
primitive distribution of labor based on differences of sex and 
age....”) The family thus arises as a firm unit by reason of the 
alterations in the economic order of the clan, which was a primitive 
state of communism (the original form of relation between the sexes 
was promiscuity, t.e., unregulated sexual relations between men and 
women). M. N. Pokrovsky characterizes the primitive Slavic family 
as follows: ‘The members of this family, workers in the same econ- 
omy, soldiers of the same detachment, and finally, worshipers of the 
same god, participants in the same rite” (History of Russia, Moscow, 
1920, pp. 17, 18, in Russian). But the economic basis of such a family 
is further clarified by the following fact. “It would be erroneous,” 


156 . HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


says M. N. Pokrovsky, “to assign a dominant importance to these 
blood ties: they are customary, but not inevitable. Such collective 
establishments were conducted in the North (of Russia) by persons 
who were strangers to each other, on the basis of contracts; they 
founded such communities, not for all time, but for a definite period, 
for instance, for ten years. ... Here also, the economic connection 
antedates the ties of blood, the ‘relation’ in our sense of the term” 
(ibid., p. 16). The changed forms of family relations, in accordance 
with the economic conditions, may be traced even in modern times: 
we need only to compare the peasant family, the workers’ family, and 
the modern bourgeois family. The peasant family is a firm unit, for 
it is based directly on production. “There must be a woman in the 
house,” for who else would milk the cows, feed the pigs, cook the food, 
tidy the rooms, wash, take care of the children, etc.? The economic 
significance of the family is so great that marriages are dictated by 
specific economic calculation: “there is no woman in the house”. Eco- 
nomically considered, the members of the family are “workers” and 
“eaters”. Built up on this comparatively rigid basis, the peasant family | 
is itself characterized by patriarchal rigidity, when untouched by the 
“corrupting” influence of the city. The workers’ family is different. 
The worker has no economy of his own. His “household” is a con- 
sumption economy only; it consumes its wages. Simultaneously, the 
city, with its saloons, restaurants, laundries, etc., makes the household 
largely superfluous. Finally, large-scale industry disintegrates the 
family, forcing the proletarian woman to work in a factory. More 
mobile, less stable forms of family relations arise from these circum- 
stances. In the upper middle class, private property requires the 
preservation of the family. But the increasing parasitism of the 
bourgeoisie, and the growth of entire strata who live by cutting 
coupons, transform the wife into a thing,’ into a bedizened but very 
stupid plaything, a boudoir appurtenance. The various forms of mar- 
riage (monogamy, polygamy, polyandry, etc.) are likewise dependent 
on the conditions of economic evolution. Furthermore, it must not 
be forgotten that sexual intercourse has practically never been limited 
to the family. The forms of prostitution, and their distribution, are 
again connected with the economy of society; we need only to point 
out the role of prostitution in the capitalist system. It seems reason- 
able to assume that communist society, which will definitely abolish 
private property and the enslavement of women, will witness the dis- 
appearance both of prostitution and the family. 


The other phases of the “superstructure” are a result of man’s 
living in society, or in individual sections of society, in a condition 
either of outright conflict or of incomplete harmony. The expres- 
sion of this condition is the social necessity of social norms, includ- 
ing customs, morals, law, and a great number of other standards 
(“rules of decent behavior’’, “etiquette’’, ceremonial, etc.; also the 
constitutions of the various societies, organizations, brotherhoods, 
etc.), all of which are produced by the accumulation of contra- 
dictions in a mature and complicated society. The most striking 
of these contradictions is the class contradiction, which therefore 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 157 


“demands” a mighty regulator for the purpose of suppressing this 
contradiction at certain times; the state power with its legal deci- 
sions, its standards of Jaw, constitutes such a regulator. There 
are also subsidiary contradictions between the classes, within 
the classes, also within trades, groups, organizations, and in all 
human categories in general. Regardless of his class position, each 
individual comes in contact with all kinds of people, is subject to 
various influences which interact at many points; he finds himself 
placed in swiftly changing circumstances, which may disappear 
and later again assert themselves. Contradictions are here found at 
every step, and yet society and certain groups within it continue 
their relatively permanent existence. The capitalists, owners of 
enterprises, traders, merchants, compete in the market; yet they 
rarely resort to armed conflict with each other within the same state, 
and their class does not collapse because of the competitive struggle 
between its members. While buyers and sellers have distinctly 
opposed interests, they do not belabor each other physically. There 
are unemployed persons among the workers, whom the capitalists 
attempt to win over during a strike; but not every such person 
can be utilized; the class bond among the workers is too strong. 
This condition is a result of a great variety of standards existing 
by the side of the legal standards. These supplementary norms 
impress themselves on the minds of men, apparently from some 
inner source, and appear sacred to them, being voluntarily adhered 
to. Of such nature, for example, are the rules of morality, which 
are represented in a commercial society as eternal and immutably 
sacred laws, radiating their own light and binding on all decent 
people; similar is the case with customs, “duties to the great de- 
parted”, “rules of decency’, “courtesy”, etc. 

In spite of the alleged “supernatural” character of these laws, 
their earthly roots may easily be traced, regardless of the pious 
awe of all their submissive adherents. A closer observation forces 
us to recognize two fundamental conditions: first, that these laws 
are subject to change; second, that they are connected with class, 
group, occupation, etc. It is also obvious that “in the last analysis” 
they are likewise conditioned by the level attained by the productive 
forces. In general, these rules indicate the line of conduct con- 
ducive to a preservation of the society, class, or group in question, 
and requiring a subordination of the individual to the interests 
of the group. These norms are therefore conditions of equilibrium 
for holding together the internal contradictions of human social 


158 ’ HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


systems, whence it results that they must more or less coincide 
with the economic structure of society. It is impossible, for in- 
stance, in any society, for the system of its dominant manners and 
f customs to be in permanent contradiction with its fundamental 
economic structure. Such an opposition would mean the complete 
absence of the fundamental condition for social equilibrium. It is 
on the basis of the economic conditions that law, customs and 
morals are evolved in any society; they change and disappear with 
the economic system. Thus, in capitalist society, the capitalist 
controls things (instruments of production), a condition which is 
reflected in the laws of the capitalist state, in the so called right 
to private property, which is protected by the entire apparatus of 
the state power. The production conditions of capitalist society 
are juridically termed property relations; these relations are sup- 
ported by many laws. A condition under which the laws of capi- 
talist society would not protect the property relations of this 
society, but destroy them, is inconceivable. Similarly, the “moral 
consciousness” of capitalist society reflects and expresses its mate- 
rial being. Thus, in the field of private property, morality teaches 
that theft is to be condemned; honesty and the inviolability of the 
property of others are inculcated. And quite naturally, for with- 
out this moral law which has imbedded itself in the minds of men, 
capitalist society would at once disintegrate. 

Apparent contradictions to the above can be easily disposed of. 
While communists do not believe in the sacredness of private prop- 
erty, they do not approve of stealing. It may be urged that this 
indicates the presence of something that is sacred for all men, 
that cannot be explained by earthly causes. The facts of the case 
are quite different: it is true that communists by no means recog- 
nize the inviolability of private property; the nationalization of 
factories is an expropriation of the bourgeoisie; the working class 
appropriates “the property of others”, transgresses the right of 
private property, undertakes a “despotic intervention in the right 
of property” (Karl Marx: The Communist Manifesto). But com- 
munists condemn stealing, for the reason that individual thefts by 
each worker from the capitalists, for his own advantage, would 
not result in a common struggle, but would make the worker a 
petty bourgeois. Horse-thieves and swindlers will not fight in the 
class struggle, even though they may be offspring of the pro- 
letariat. If many members of the proletariat should become 
thieves, the class would break down and be condemned to impo- 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 159 


tence; therefore, communists condemn stealing, not in order to 
protect private property, but in order to maintain the integrity of 
their class, to protect it from “demoralization” and “disintegra- 
tion”, without which protection the proletariat can never be trans- 
formed into the next following stage. We are therefore dealing 
with a class standard in the conduct of the proletariat. It is obvious 
that the rules we have considered are determined by the economic 
conditions of society. 


The proletarian standards, of course, are in contradiction with the 
economic conditions of capitalist society. But we have been speaking 
of dominant standards; as soon as the proletarian standards become 
dominant, capitalism will be a thing of the past (see next chapter). 

A number of examples will be given to explain the above statements. 
In the sexual field, at a certain stage of development, when the clan 
was still based on blood relationship and members of other clans were 
considered enemies, marriages between close relations were not ob- 
jectionable; particularly sacred was a marriage with one’s mother or 
daughter (in the ancient Iranian religion). 

When the productive forces were at a low level, and the social econ- 
omy could not afford any superfluous ballast, manners and morals 
required the slaying of old men, as is reported by the ancient historians 
Herodotus, Strabo, etc. This was the cause for the voluntary self- 
poisonings (reported by Strabo) of old men. On the other hand, 
where these old men had a function in production or administration, 
morality required that they be honored (cf. Eduard Meyer: Elemente 
der Anthropologie, pp. 31-33, et seg.). The close-knit nature of the 
clan, its solidarity when combating enemies, assumed the form of blood 
revenge, in which women also participated. Thus, we read in the 
Nibelungenlied : 

“Chriemhilda did revenge her wrongs, in way that will affright; 
She slaughtered, without fear or shame, the king, and loyal knight! 
They both were singly manacled, in fast and dreary place; 

So that those knights ne’er saw again each other, face to face, 

Save when she took her brother’s head to Hagen, with own hand, 

—Chriemhilda’s vengeful wrath was such, as baffles all command.” 

(Das Nibelungenlied, or Lay of the. Last Nibelungers, English 
transl. by Jonathan Birch, Berlin, 1848.) 

Eduard Meyer correctly says: “In content, the laws of morality, 
of customs, and of justice, depend on the social order and the com- 
munal views of the community, prevailing at the time. . . . They may 
therefore be diametrically opposed in content, if they represent dif- 
ferent societies and different periods” (ibid., p. 44). In ancient China, 
a peculiarly constructed feudal state authority with a great stratum 
of officials of various degree, was of great importance. ‘The rule of 
this feudal-bureaucratic stratum was ideologically based on the teach- 
ing of Confucius, a system of rules of conduct. One of the most 
important points in this moral teaching was the doctrine of respect 
and submission to those in authority (Hiao); “Calumnies must be 
borne, even though they drive us into death, if the honor of the master 
require it; one can (and should) always make good all the master’s 
errors by faithful service; such was Hiao” (Max Weber: Gesammelte 


160 ' HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Aufsdtze gur Religionsphilosophie, Titbingen, 1920, vol. i, p. 419). 
Violation of Hiao was the only sin. One who did not understand 
this, who therefore had no grasp of “propriety” (a fundamental con- 
ception in the Confucian doctrine) was a barbarian. “Respect 
(Hiao) toward one’s feudal lord was enumerated together with that 
toward parents, teachers, superiors in the official hierarchy, and office- 
holders in general” (ibid., p. 446). Discipline, like respect, is a 
worthy virtue. ‘“Insubordination is worse than baseness” (p. 447). 
The case may be generally stated: “Better be a dog in peace, than 
a man living in anarchy,” as Cheng Ki Tong says (p. 457). “Like 
any code for officials, the Confucian code of course also condemned 
any participation by officials in business, directly or indirectly, as 
ethically objectionable and not in accord with their rank” (p. 447). 
Friends must be chosen only from one’s own rank, for they can fulfil 
all the ceremonies; the population consists of “stupid men” (yun min), 
as contrasted with the man of princely station. Characteristically 
enough, this entire system of standards supporting the feudal noble 
régime was called the “great plan”, hung fan, (p. 454). It is obvious 
that this teaching is closely related with the system of society. The 
numerous “Chinese ceremonies” were in reality based on the dominant 
currents of thought, and served as a complicated silken tissue enmesh- 
ing the social structure and guarding the existing order. 

Or, let us consider the medieval knights of Northern France, in the 
Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, who sang of their fair ladies and 
fought tournaments “for them”; their “ideal” views of “honor and 
love” bore all the earmarks of a caste honor (cf. H. Helmolt, Welt- 
geschichite, Leipzig and Vienna, vol. v). The chief role played by 
knighthood in society was that of war and strategy. The “standards” 
therefore had to serve the purpose of training a military type of man, 
segregated in a special class. “A knight, who... had shown him- 
self to be a coward, was cast out, publicly outlawed by the herald, 
cursed by the Church; his escutcheon and arms were destroyed by the 
hangman, his shield tied to the tail of a horse and smashed by the 
animal in his swift course... .” “For training in the profession of 
arms, there were tournaments, in addition to military campaigns and 
feuds” (p. 496). 

“As the capitalist relations grow, the dominant customs, morals, 
etc., change. Generous wastefulness is replaced by a desire for ac- 
cumulation and the corresponding virtues.” “A decent man is not 
honored by his lordly manner, but by his keeping order in his estab- 
lishment” (W. Sombart, Der Bourgeois, p. 140). “One must refrain 
from revelry, must appear only in decent company; must not be ad- 
dicted to drinking, gambling, women; one must be a good ‘citizen’ 
even in one’s external conduct, for reasons of business interest. For, 
such a moral conduct of life raises one’s credit” (ibid., pp. 162, 163). 
Of course, this pious Protestant morality was succeeded by a dif- 
ferent morality when the situation of the bourgeoisie changed, the 
business of the firm no longer depending on the conduct of its owner. 

It is an even easier matter to show how law changes with the eco- 
nomic structure, for here the class character of law is manifest every- 
where. But even such intangible standards as those of fashion de- 
pend—as may be easily proved—on social conditions. For a bourgeois 
it is “indecent” not to dress in accordance with his standing; for this 
class trait of clothing indicates “persons of quality”. Even revolu- 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 161 


tionists are subject to the caprices of fashion; a party fashion in the 
revolution of 1905 was the wearing of black blouses by the Social- 
Democrats (a sign of the proletariat), while the Social-Revolutionists 
preferred red ones (revolutionary peasantry); you could hardly find 
a dozen intellectuals in any big city, who had participated in the 
revolution and yet ignored these passively accepted party fashions. 

In addition to a class morality, we also have subdivisions of this 
morality, for example, professional ethics, the vocational morals of 
physicians, lawyers, etc. There is also a thief morality (“there is 
honor among thieves”), which is rather strictly complied with. All 
the standards above mentioned constitute firm bonds emphasizing the 
unity of a society, a class, a vocational group, etc. 


Science and Philosophy are also a category of social phenomena. 
We shall see that the latter is based on all the accomplishments of 
the former. Any fairly advanced science is a very complicated 
thing, not limited to systems of ideas alone. The sciences have 
their technique, their physical apparatus, instruments, appliances, 
charts, books, laboratories, museums, etc.; any laboratory or any 
scientific expedition, to the North Pole or to Central Africa, will 
serve as an illustration; they also have their personal apparatus, 
sometimes highly organized (for example, scientific congresses, 
conferences, academies and other organizations, with their periodi- 
cal and other publications); and finally, there is the system of 
ideas, of thoughts in orderly arrangement, constituting the science 
in the proper sense of the word. 

The following principle is of fundamental importance: every 
science is born from practice, from the conditions and needs of 
the struggle for life on the part of social man with nature, and 
of the various social groups, with the elemental forces of society 
or with other social groups. “The savage has had the most varied 
experiences ; he can distinguish venomous and edible plants, pursue 
the traces of game and protect himself from beasts of prey and 
venomous serpents. He can make use of fire and water, select 
stones and wood for his weapons, smelt and work metals. He can 
count and calculate with his fingers, make measurements with his 
hands and feet like a child, he sees the firmament, observes its 
motions and the changed positions of sun and planets. AIl or most 
of his observations are made casually or for the purpose of a 
useful application. These primitive observations are the germ of 
the various sciences. The latter can only exist when freedom from 
material cares has resulted in a sufficient quantity of comfort and 
leisure, and when the intellect has been sufficiently strengthened by 
frequent use, to make observations per se... a matter of in- 


162 ' HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


terest.” 2® Science therefore can begin only when the growth of 
the productive forces has left free time for scientific observation. 
Also, the original material of science is material taken from the 
field of production. It should therefore not surprise us that the 
immediate maintenance of life by production, i.¢e., the interests of 
production, gave the first impulse to the growth of science. Prac- 
tice created theory and impelled it onward. 


Astronomy arose from the need of finding one’s bearings by the 
stars in desert plains, from the significance of the seasons in agri- 
culture, the need of a precise division of time (astronomical control 
of clocks, for instance), etc. Physics was intimately connected with 
the technique of material production and warfare. Chemistry arose 
on the basis of an expanding industrial production, particularly min- 
ing; the beginnings of chemistry are already found in Egypt and 
China, in the manufacture of glass, dyeing, enameling, the production 
of paints, metallurgy, etc.; the word chemistry is derived from chemi, 
“black”, thus suggesting its Egyptian origin. Alchemy is found among 
the ancient Egyptians, the outgrowth of the desire to find the law 
of transmutation of metals into gold; in the Fifteenth Century, chem- 
istry was much aided by medicine. Mineralogy arises from the use 
of metals in production, and their study for purposes of production. 
Botany originally consisted of a knowledge of healing plants, later 
of useful plants, still later, of plants in general. Zoology developed 
from the necessity of understanding the useful and harmful qualities 
of animals. Anatomy, physiology, pathology, started from practical 
medicine (the first “specialists” in this field were Egyptian, East In- 
dian, Greek and Roman physicians, such as the Greek Hippocrates, 
the Roman Claudius Galenus, etc.). Geography and ethnography 
were developed by trade and colonial warfare. The ablest commercial 
peoples of antiquity (for instance, the Phcenicians, Carthaginians, 
etc.), were also the best geographers. Geography was neglected in 
the Middle Ages, a great renewal of interest in the subject coming in 
modern times, beginning with the Fifteenth Century, in the era of the 
colonial wars waged by the trade-capitalist nations, and the half- 
commercial, half-predatory, half-scientific voyages connected with 
these wars. The voyages and discoveries were performed chiefly by 
the predatory commercial nations: Portugal, Spain, England, Holland. 
Ethnology was also encouraged by colonial policy, the practical ques- 
tion being the learning of a method of utilizing savages for labor for 
the advantage of the “civilized” bourgeoisie. Mathematics, the science 
that is apparently most remote from practice, was nevertheless of 
practical origin; its original tools were those first used in material 
production: the fingers, hands, feet (counting on one’s fingers), the 
quinary, decimal, vicenary systems; the original designations for the 
angles, etc., after the bend in the knee; units of length: the ell, foot, 
etc. (cf. Cantor: Vorlesungen iiber die Geschichte der Mathematik, 
Leipzig, 1907, vol. i). The material basis of mathematics was the 
needs of production: surveying (“geometry” means “earth-measure- 
ment’), the erection of buildings, measuring the content of vessels, 


_18 Ernst Mach: Erkenntnis und Irrtum (“Knowledge and Error”), Leip- 
Zig, 1915, p. 82. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 163 


shipbuilding; still earlier, the number of cattle; in the commercial 
period, commercial arithmetic, inventory, balance-sheet, etc. The 
Egyptian and Greek geometers, the Roman agrimensores, the Alex- 
andrian engineers (for instance, Hero of Alexandria, who invented 
a sort of steam-engine) were simultaneously the first mathematicians 
(Rudolf Eisler: Geschichte der Wissenschaften, Leipzig, 1906). The 
case of the social sciences (as already discussed in our Introduction) 
is in no way different. History arose from the need of knowing the 
“destinies of nations”, for purposes of practical politics. Legal science 
began with the collection and codification of the most important laws, 
again for practical purposes. Political economy arose with capital- 
ism, originally as a science of merchants, serving the needs of their 
class policy. The philological sciences arose in the form of “gram- 
mars” of the various languages, as a result of commercial relations 
and the requirements of intercourse. Statistics began with merchants’ 
“tables”, each dealing with a specific country (likewise, the first be- 
ginnings of political economy; one of the earliest economists, William 
Petty, calls one of his works: “Political Arithmetic”), etc., etc. New 
sciences are arising from production before our very eyes, for in- 
stance, the technical experiences acquired in the application of the 
Taylor system give rise to so called psycho-technics, the psycho- 
physiology of labor, the theory of the organization of production, etc. 


With the gradual extension, division, and specialization of the 
sciences, their direct or indirect dependence on the stage of the 
productive forces nevertheless continues in evidence. As the natu- 
ral human organs, in the direct process of material production in 
society, are “extended,” and by this extension, “contrary to the 
Bible”, are enabled to embrace and manipulate a much greater 
material, so the “extended” consciousness of human society is 
Science, increasing its mental compass and enabling it to grasp 
and consequently better to control, a greater mass of phenomena. 


It is interesting to note that many bourgeois scholars, when speak- 
ing concretely of science, involuntarily assume this materialist stand- 
point. But they dare not pursue it to the end. Thus a well-known 
Russian scholar, Professor Chuprov (junior) speaks of the “sig- 
nificance of science” as follows: ‘While life remains uncomplicated, 
men in their daily affairs content themselves with the ‘experiences of 
life’, an accidental method of accumulating incoherent bits of knowl- 
edge and habit, passed on from father to son as a tradition. But as 
the sphere of interest widens, these formless bits of knowledge cease 
to fulfil requirements; there arises a need for systematic work, con- 
sciously and planfully devoted to an understanding of the surrounding 
universe, 1.e., science. As soon as men have learned that scientia et 
potentia humana in idem coincidunt (science and human knowledge are 
identical), and that quod in contemplatione instar causae est, id in 
operatione instar regulae est (that which appears as cause in observa- 
tion, is the rule in the effect), they grasp the thought that ignoratio 
causae destituit effectum (failure to recognize the cause destroys the 
result), and learn to appreciate science as the basis of practical labor” 


164 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


(Outlines of the Theory of Statistics, St. Petersburg, 1909, pp. 21, 22, 
in Russian). 


The connection between the state of science and the productive 
forces of society is of manifold nature. This connection must be 
studied from a number of angles, for it is not as simple as may 
first appear. We shall therefore have to turn our attention, in 
our consideration of science, to its technique, its special organiza- 
tion of work, its content, its method (or alleged method), for all 
these components interact mutually and produce the level of the 
given science at a given time. Each of these elements will lead 
back directly or indirectly to the social technology. 

In the first place, the very existence of society is possible only 
after the productive forces have attained a certain level in their 
development. If the labor surplus is absent or limited and not 
increased, the growth of science is impossible. 


“This desire for science could not be displayed before man had 
satisfied his other appetites. ... Certain very old observations are 
handed down to us from China, India, Egypt, but it is interesting to 
note that they were but imperfectly developed in those countries” 
(A. Bordeaux: Histoire des sciences physiques, chimiques et 
géologiques au XIX siécle, Paris and Liége, 1920, p. 11). 


The content of science is determined in the last analysis by 
the technical and economic phase of society; these are the “prac- 
tical roots”, which explain why an identical scientific discovery, 
invention, or study, may be achieved simultaneously in different 
places, perhaps quite “independently”. The “ideas” are said to be 
in the air, meaning that they grow out of the existing stage of 
life. That has been produced by the level of the productive forces. 


In his Histoire, A. Bordeaux mentions the following discoveries re- 
sulting, as he puts it, from the presence of ideas “in the air”, and from 
the conditions of life (par Vexistence des tdées dans l’air et par les 
circonstances de la vie): the discovery of the relation between heat 
and mechanical work, induction, the induction coil, the Gramme ring, 
the infinitesimal calculus (mentioned not only by Leibnitz and Newton, 
but also by their. predecessors Fermat, Cavalieri, etc., as far back as 
Archimedes). Bordeaux concludes: “As for science, ... it shows 
. . . how difficult it is to determine which person really made a certain 
discovery” (ibid., p. 8). Let us note that the practical object of a 
science by no means presupposes that each scientific principle directly 
influences practice. Assuming the theorem A to be important for 
practice, and that this theorem cannot be proved except with the use 
of the theorems, B, C, D, and that the three latter theorems are of no 
direct practical value (being, as we say, of “purely theoretical inter- 
est”), these theorems nevertheless are indirectly of practical signifi- 





EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 165 


cance as links in a single scientific chain. There are no useless or 
worthless scientific systems, just as there are no useless mechanical 
tools. 

While the problems have been put chiefly by technology and 
economy, their solution in many sciences depends on alterations 
in the scientific technique, whose instruments are of extraordinary 
importance in widening the horizon. .The microscope, for exam- 
ple, was invented in the first half of the Seventeenth Century and 
of course, had an immense influence on the evolution of science 
by favoring the development of botany, zoology, anatomy, in 
creating a new branch of science, bacteriology, etc. Equally obvi- 
ous is the role of technique in astronomy (equipment of observa- 
tories, varieties of telescopes, devices for photographing stars, 
etc.). In its turn, scientific technique depends on the material pro- 
duction in general (is a product of material labor). In scientific 
work, we usually find a corresponding organization of this work, 
also influencing the state of scientific knowledge. The division of 
scientific labor (specialization in science), the organization of 
great scientific units (¢.g., laboratories), the establishment of sci- 
entific bodies and scientific intercourse are extremely important. 
All these phases, again, are ultimately determined by the economic 
and technical conditions; thus, modern chemical laboratories grow 
with the industrial plants to which they are attached; scientific 
intercourse becomes more frequent with the greater frequency of 
economic connections, etc. But technical and economic conditions 
also “condition” science in another respect. With the rapid ex- 
pansion of technology, economic conditions and the entire standard 
of life are constantly changing, resulting not only in a swift 
growth of science, but in its acceptance of the concept of change 
as a guiding factor (use of the dynamic method, see chapter 111). 
Conversely, where technology is conservative and of slow growth, 
the economic life will also advance but slowly, and the human 
psychology infers that all things are permanent. Society then 
marks time and is governed by the principle of permanence. The 
class characteristics in the various branches of science also present 
themselves, reflecting either the mode of thought characteristic of 
the specific class, or the interests of the class. Mode of thought, 
interests, etc., are, in their turn, determined by the economic struc- 
ture of society. 


Let us give a few of these relations. In ancient times, technology 
—as we know—developed slowly, with a resulting slow advance in 


166 ' HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


technical knowledge. “This neglect of technology has several causes: 
in the first place, antiquity was ... entirely aristocratic in its atti- 
tude. Even prominent artists, such as Phidias, are classed as artisans; 
they are incapable of bursting through the stone wall .. . separating 
the aristocratic circle... from the artisans and peasants....A 
second cause of the slight progress of technical discovery in antiquity 
is in its slave-holding system. . . . We therefore find a lack of any 
impulse to develop the machine as a substitute for manual labor... . 
Science . . . was dead and the interest in technical problems, except 
for a few curiosities, such as water-clocks and water-organs, had died 
out” (Hermann Diels: Wissenschaft und Technik bet den Hellenen, 
in Antike Technik, Leipzig and Berlin, 1920, pp. 31-33). Thence the 
character of the existing science: “The natural sciences probably 
arose as a by-product of artisan work. But since such work, as well 
as any manual work, was despised in ancient society, and as the slaves 
who observed nature were sharply distinguished from the masters who 
speculated and worked as amateurs at their leisure, often knowing 
nature only by hearsay, it is easy to explain much of the naive, vague 
and mystical nature of ancient natural science’ (Ernst Mach: 
Erkenntnis und Irrtum, Leipzig, 1905, p. 95, Mach’s italics). In the 
Middle Ages we have a feeble and primitive technology, with feudal 
relations in economic life, an entire system of superiors has been 
elaborated, culminating in the landlord and monarch. It should not 
surprise us to learn that the dominant thought was not very mobile, 
resisting all that was new (heresy was punished with burning and 
quartering), not occupying itself with the investigation of nature, but 
delving in theological problems. The important problems of discussion 
were: the bodily size of Adam, whether he had brown or red hair, 
how many angels could stand on the point of a needle, etc. This 
immobile, conservative theological (formal, “scholastic”’) character 
of the science of the time, entirely opposed to experimental investiga- 
tion, may be explained by the conditions of the social life, by the 
technical and economic relations, which ultimately rested on the stage 
of social evolution. The case became quite different, when capitalist 
relations began to grow. We now are no longer dealing with a rigid 
technology, but with one that is rapidly changing, with new branches 
of production constantly growing up; we now need mechanics, engi- 
neers, chemists, and not theologians or knights; warfare also requires 
scientific knowledge, as well as mathematics. It is natural that this 
shift in the technical and economic relations also necessarily resulted 
in a transformation of science: Scholasticism, Latin, Theology, etc., 
gave way to an experimental investigation of nature, to the natural 
sciences, to the Realist School. We have here given an example of 
the general transformation in the content of science. We might, with 
close study, also trace this transformation in the methods of inves- 
tigation, the tools of scientific thought, and in many other phases of 
science. 

An example of the influence of the class psychology, and conse- 
quently also of the class structure of society, is afforded by the organic 
theory in sociology, already mentioned by us. Professor R. J. Wipper 
says the following on this subject: “The comparison of society with 
an organism, the expression, the ‘organic connection of the individual 
with society’, as contrasted with the connection in a mechanical soci- 
ety, all these comparisons, formulas, and antitheses were launched by 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 167 


the reactionary publicists of the Nineteenth Century. In setting up 
this organ as opposed to a mechanism, these publicists were attempting 
to distinguish their demands sharply from the didactic and revolu- 
tionary principles of the previous century (the Era of Enlightenment). 
‘The state is a mechanism’, was the old terminology: equal rights for 
all men, whose totality constitutes the sovereign people; ‘the state is 
an organism’, was the new slogan: arrangement of men in a tradi- 
tional social hierarchy, subjection of the individual to a ‘natural’ group, 
1.e., his subordination to the old social authority. Translated into con- 
crete language, the ‘organic’ relations mean: serfdom, the guild system, 
subordination of workers to employers, defense of the honor and 
privileges of the nobility, etc.” (Wipper: 4 Few Observations on 
the Theory of Historical Knowledge, in the collection Two Intelli- 
gentsias, Moscow, 1912, pp. 47, 48, in Russian.) 

We give below a few additional data on the history of mathematics, 
since it is commonly assumed that mathematics, being a purely con- 
templative science, has nothing in common with practical life. We 
take them from the very important work of M. Cantor (Vorlesungen 
tuber die Geschichte der Mathematik, Leipzig, 1907, vol. i). Mathe- 
matical knowledge arose among the Babylonians, developing on the 
basis of surveying, measuring the cubic contents of vessels, commercial 
arithmetic, and the need of a precise division of time (the calendar) 
into years, days, hours, etc. The original mathematical instruments 
were the fingers. Later, calculating machines: a rope with little rods 
(Sumerian: tim) in geometry; later, an instrument recalling the 
astrolabe. Mathematical study was closely connected with religion, 
the numerals at first indicating the gods, their celestial precedence, 
etc. Mathematics attained a high state of development among the 
Egyptians; the ancient mathematical “Calculation Book of Ahmes’ 
(its precise title is: “Rules for obtaining a knowledge of all obscure 
things .. . of all secrets which are contained in objects”) contains 
such headings as: “Rule for Calculating a Round Granary”, “Rule for 
Calculating Fields”, “Rule for Making an Adornment”, etc. (ibid., 
pp. 58, 59). Arithmetical and occasionally algebraic operations are 
illustrated by means of problems clearly indicating the conditions of 
practice. This practice involves: distribution of grain, distribution of 
rye, calculation of receipts, etc... (p. 79 et seq.). The concluding 
statement of this mathematical primer clearly shows its connection 
with agriculture; we read: “Catch vermin, mice, gather fresh weeds, 
numerous spiders, beg (the god) Ra for warmth, wind, high water” 
(p. 85). The fingers were obviously the first calculating instruments, 
later a sort of board (with knotted twine, as in the case of the Peruvi- 
ans). The basis of geometry was surveying; besides problems in the 
measurement of fields, Ahmes also has problems for calculating the 
volume of granaries and the amount of grain they may hold (p. 98). 
The Greek historian Diodorus writes of the Egyptians: ‘The priests 
teach their sons two kinds of writing, the so called sacred writing 
and a common writing. They diligently study geometry and arith- 
metic. For the river (the Nile) changes the country considerably each 
year, thus producing much litigation concerning boundaries between 
neighbors; such divisions cannot be adjusted without direct measure- 
ments made by a geometer. Arithmetic serves them in their household 
affairs’ (p. 303, my italics, N. B.). The astronomical, geometrical 
and algebraic rules were first connected with religious rites; they were 


168 ' HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


sacred mysteries in which only a select few were initiated. The so 
called “harpedonapts” (rope-weavers, or literally, rope-knotters) pos- 
sessed the trade secret of setting the rope, of placing it at the proper 
angle with the meridian, etc. (In fact, in general, the angles and 
sides of pyramids, the arrangement of their parts, had a certain sacred 
astronomical-scientific meaning, which was probably imparted to the 
“sons of the priests’. ) 

Among the Romans, geometry advanced with the needs of landed 
property, which was so holy that even the gods possessed it. Mathe- 
matics attained its highest development (“exceptional period,” accord- 
ing to Cantor). This exceptional condition of development was due 
to the presence of two practical problems: the construction of the 
calendar (the so called Julian Calendar; Julius Cesar himself wrote a 
book on the stars, De astris), and the great survey of the Roman 
Empire. The latter problem was solved under Augustus, the great 
Greek engineer and mathematician, Hero of Alexandria, being invited 
to conduct the work; for the first time a complete map of the entire 
empire was compiled. We later find, in Columella, a consideration of 
mathematics in its relations with agriculture; in Sextius Julius Fron- 
tinus, a treatment of mathematics as applied to the calculation of aque- 
duct tubes (the important mathematical symbol 7, to represent the 
ratio between circumference and diameter of the circle). In the so 
called Codex Arcerianus (a legal-scientific reference work for admin- 
istrative officials of the Roman Empire, in the Sixth and Seventh Cen- 
turies, A.D.), we find a number of articles on field-surveying for pur- 
poses of taxation (Cantor, ibid., p. 454). 

The development of arithmetic was due chiefly to the demands of 
trade. Interest calculations, according to Horace an accomplishment 
of daily use, calculations of inheritance bequests, in accordance with 
the complicated Roman legislation, merchants’ calculations—they were 
the motives underlying the evolution of arithmetic. 

Among the ancient East Indians, we find astronomy, algebra and 
the beginnings of trigonometry. The conditions in this country re- 
semble those found among other ancient peoples. The mathematical 
chapters of a learned collected work (the Aryabhatia) give evidence, 
in the designations and content of the problems, of the living basis of 
Indian mathematics. A mathematical method, for instance, is sug- 
gested in the following verse: ‘“Multiplications become divisions, di- 
visions become multiplications; what was profit becomes loss, what 
was loss becomes profit” (p. 17). In another passage we find the 
problem: “A sixteen-year-old female slave cost thirty-two nishkas; 
how much will a twenty-year-old slave-girl cost?” (p. 618). Interest 
calculations follow (at the rate of 50 per cent. per month!); also 
problems for calculating all kinds of commercial transactions (p. 619), 
etc. The unknown quantities designated by +, y, z, in present-day 
algebra, were called by the Indians “coin” (rupaka), the positive quan- 
tities were “‘assets” (dhana or sva) ; the negative quantities, “liabilities” 
(rina or kshaya) (p. 621). Architecture and its mathematical rules 
were here also enveloped in mystery, having a specific astronomic and 
divine significance. The measurement of fields, the construction of 
palaces and temples, the calculation of contents, were the moving im- 
pulse in Indian geometry. Among the ancient Chinese, the evolution 
of mathematics proceeded along the same general lines, with the class 
character of science, its monopoly, more sharply expressed (there were 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 169 


three sets of numerals: one for state officials, one for science, one for 
civilian merchants. In a collection of laws (Tcheou ly), we find the 
following mathematical offices: the hereditary dignity of court as- 
tronomer (fong siang shi) and court astrologer (pao tshang shit); 
followed by the head-geometer (liong jin), to whom was entrusted 
the laying out of the walls and palaces of cities, below him a special 
official for the measuring apparatus (tu fang shi), who performed 
measurements with an instrument called tu kiiei, namely, a shadow 
indicator, making the necessary calculations, etc. (p. 676). 

It is easy to conclude from the above: 1. that the content of science 
is given by the content of technology and economy; 2. that its devel- 
opment was determined among other things by the tools of scientific 
knowledge; 3. that the various social conditions now encouraged, now 
retarded progress; 4. that the method of scientific thought was de- 
termined by the economic structure of society (the religious, divinely 
mysterious character of ancient mathematics, in which even a number 
sometimes designated a divinity, is a reflection of the feudal-slavehold- 
ing order of society with its inaccessible ruler, its priestly officials, 
etc.) ; 5. that the class structure of society impressed its class stamp on 
mathematics (in part merely on the mode of thought, in part on the 
form of material interest, excluding ordinary mortals from the sacred 
mysteries). In modern times we find the same causal relations, but 
they are more complicated and, of course, different in form; the 
technology and the economic conditions have changed entirely. 


Religion and Plulosophy. Religion and philosophy are the next 
forms of the superstructure to which we shall devote our at- 
tention. 

The thoughts and observations accumulated by human society 
give rise to the need of grouping and classifying them; science has 
resulted from this need. But science began, at a very early stage, 
to be subdivided into various branches, and within these special 
sciences there proceeded an “adaptation of thoughts to thoughts”, 
4.¢., a systematization. But, in addition, a need was felt for some- 
thing that would hold together all these “knowledges” and “er- 
rors’, that would realize an equilibrium between them. Religion 
and general science had to provide this uniting principle; it is that 
which had to furnish the answers to the most abstract and general 
: questions: as to the cause of all existence; the nature of the uni- 
verse; whether the universe is as it seems, or otherwise; the nature 
of mind and matter ; the possibility of a knowledge of the universe; 
the nature of truth; ultimate causes of all phenomena; the exist- 
ence of limits to human knowledge, the defining of these limits; 
and a host of similar questions. Of course, our answer to these 
questions will influence our conception of any specific phenomenon, 
If, for instance, all depends on the will of God, who guides the 
world according to his divine plan, all our knowledge must be ar- 


170 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


ranged in teleological or theological order, and at certain epochs 
science actually assumed this form. All phenomena then re- 
quired us to seek the so called “hand of God”, the divine purpose. 
But if the gods are not involved, if a causal relation is the only 
element of importance, our attitude toward the phenomena of 
the universe becomes quite different. If philosophy and religion, 
therefore, are the spectacles through which all facts are viewed at 
a certain stage in evolution, a study of the conditions underlying 
the construction of these “spectacles” is very important. 

As for religion, we already know that its “essence” is a “faith” 
in supernatural powers, in miraculous spirits; this “faith” may be 
in one or more such forces, may be crude, or more intangible 
and ethereal. This notion of “spirit”, “soul”, etc., was a re- 
flection of the particular economic structure of society at the time 
when the “eldest of the clan’—and later, the patriarch—arose 
(in the patriarchate; the case is essentially the same in the matri- 
archate), in other words, when the division of labor led to the 
segregation of administrative work. The eldest of the clan, the 
guardian of its accumulated experience in production, adminis- 
ters, commands, outlines the plan of labor, represents the active 
“creative” principle, while the rest obey, execute commands, sub- 
mit to the plan handed out by their superior, act in accordance 
with another’s will. This mode of production became a pattern 
for the interpretation of all phases of existence, particularly man 
himself. Man was divided into “body” and “spirit”. The 
“spirit” guides the “body”, and is as much superior to the body 
as the organizer and administrator is superior to the simple ex- 
ecutant. In one passage, Aristotle compares the soul with the 
master and the body with the slave. All the rest of the world 
began to be considered in accordance with the same scheme of 
things: behind each thing, man saw the “spirit” of this thing; 
all nature became animated with a “spirit”, a scientific concep- 
tion which is known as “animism”, from the Latin anima (“soul”), 
or animus (“spirit”). This conception, once established, neces- 
sarily led to the origin of religion, beginning with the worship 
of ancestors, of the elders of the clan, of supervisors and organ- 
izers in general. Their “spirits” or “souls” were naturally con- 
sidered to be the most intelligent, most experienced, most powerful 
spirits, capable of giving aid, and on whom all things depended. 
Here we already have a religion, showing in its origin that it also 
is a reflection of production relations (particularly those of master 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 171 


and servant) and the political order of society conditioned by them. 
The whole world was explained in accordance with the pattern 
used to explain life in society; in all its later history, religion 
shows alterations proceeding parallel with the alterations in the 
production relations and the social-political relations; in a society 
consisting of loosely connected clans, each with its own elders and 
princes, religion assumes the form of polytheism; should a cen- 
tralized monarchy arise, it will be found paralleled in heaven, 
where a single God will mount the throne, as cruel as the ruler 
of the earth; the religion of a slaveholding commercial republic 
(for instance, the Athens of the Fifth Century s.c.) will show 
the Gods organized as a republic, even though the goddess of the 
victorious city, Pallas Athena, may be given unusual prominence. 
And, parallel with the hierarchy of officials found in any “re- 
spectable” state, we also find a corresponding organization of 
saints, angels, gods, etc., in heaven, arranged in accordance with 
their dignity, rank, and order.1* Furthermore, a division of labor 
is instituted among the gods, as among mundane superiors; one is 
made a specialist for military affairs (Mars in the Roman mythol- 
ogy, St. George or the Archangel Michael, the Archistrategus, 
in the Greek Catholic Church) ; another for commercial matters 
(Mercury) ; a third, for agriculture, etc. The parallel even ex- 
tends to amusing details; for instance, among the Russian saints 
there are “specialists” (like the spetses in Soviet Russia) for 
horsebreeding (Frol and Lavr). Any relation of domination 
and subjection is paralleled by a religion reflecting this relation. 
As actual life presents cases of war, enslavement, and insurrec- 
tion, so religion teaches that these also occur in the celestial spheres ; 
devils, demons, princes of darkness, are merely a heavenly parallel 
to the hostile leaders seeking to destroy the state on earth; in 
heaven they attempt to undermine the Emperor, the Almighty, 
and subvert the entire celestial order. 


This theory of the origin of religion, which we accept absolutely, 
belongs to A. Bogdanov, and was first formulated in the Russian 
handbook: Contributions to Social Psychology. Later special inves- 
tigations have entirely confirmed this conjecture, which is touched 
upon by H. Cunow in his book: Ursprung der Religion und des Got- 
tesglaubens, Berlin, 1920. Cunow objects to the conception which 
would have religion emanate from the various observations of ex- 
ternal nature, and rightly declares: ‘We may indeed, since each con- 

14 See Karl Kautsky: Foundations of Christianity (New York: Inter- 


national Publishers, 1925), pp. 179-181, for a detailed parallel in the later 
Roman society.—TRANSLATOR. 


172 ‘HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


ceptual image is determined by the conception at its basis (its sub- 
stratum), maintain in a certain sense that both the natural environment 
and the social life determine the religious ideology; but, aside from 
the fact that the view of nature is in turn largely dependent on the 
degree to which man has succeeded in technically utilizing the forces 
of nature in the production of his material life (Herr Cunow should 
have remembered this when he took up a discussion of the productive 
forces, NV. 8.), the natural conceptual image furnished only the e-+x- 
ternal adornments, one might almost say, only the local color for the 
religious system of thought’ (p. 20, my italics, N. B.). But Herr 
Cunow does not pursue this thought to its logical conclusion and falls 
a victim to the most incredible childishness. Thus, he states (p. 
24): “All natural and semi-civilized races are naturally (!) dual- 
ists.” This recalls Adam Smith’s designation of “exchange” as an 
“entirely natural” property of man, or the explanation of the origin 
of science in man’s innate “tendency to causality”. According to 
Cunow, the fact that man has both soul and body is “fortified” by 
dream-visions and the trance (fainting) condition (something appar- 
ently leaves the body, later returning to it). But only that which ts 
can be “fortified”. Perhaps death is a phenomenon calling forth the 
notion of a “soul” separate from the “body”. But Cunow himself 
gives us examples (pp. 22, 23) of savages who do not understand the 
necessity of natural death, in fact, many tribes (John Fraser reports 
this of the Australians in New South Wales) ascribe death itself to 

»»‘the mysterious malignance of an evil spirit” (p. 23). In other words, 
this explains nothing at all. (We may mention in passing that M. N. 
Pokrovsky derives religion from the fear of death, from those de- 
parted, etc. But suppose even the conception that all men are mortal 
is lacking? It is obvious that Pokrovsky considers “natural” or 
primitive what is really a historical category, historical in its origin.) 
In Cunow’s mind, religion evolves as follows: Beginnings of a spirit 
worship, then totem worship (totems are the birds, animals, plants, 
that were once the coats of arms of the tribes) and ancestor worship. 
But in almost all of the examples mentioned by Cunow, his “most 
primitive” spirits are the spirits of ancestors. In his chapter on “the 
beginnings of spirit worship”, Cunow writes: “Only the spirits of 
close relations or, at any rate, of members of the same horde are 
regarded as well disposed. And not always even these; the spirits of 
the dead of strange hordes and tribes are all considered as hostile” 
(pp. 39, 40). The name “Father” is given to the spirit of either 
parent (p. 40), to that of grandfather and great-grandfather (p. 41), 
to any spirit at all (p. 41), etc. Cunow gets nowhere by this method. 
On p. 6 he accepts the formula that religious impressions are called 
forth by the “impressions ... of social life” (my italics, N. B.). 
But on p. 17 he has already ceased to speak of the social nature of the 
spirit, now speaking of “its own nature, its own origin, growth and 
decay, particularly death” (Cunow’s italics). But Cunow will surely 
not dare term birth and death as specifically social phenomena! In 
reality, what is true of external nature is also true of the biological 
nature of man: the impressions of all these phenomena, (death, sleep, 
trance, as well as thunderstorms, earthquakes, will-of-the-wisns, the 
sun, etc.) furnish a partial material out of which the total is built 
up from the point of view of dualism; a dualism by no means in- 
nate, but arising from the fundamental conditions of social life. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 173 


We are giving so much attention to Cunow because his book— 
on the whole quite valuable, is almost the only Marxian work on the 
history of religion. Eduard Meyer (ibid., p. 87) considers the funda- 
mental cause for the origin of religion to lie in the direct presence 
of a “causality instinct” and an (also “directly given’!) dualism; 
man experiences within himself two parallel sets of phenomena in 
causal relation with each other: on the one hand, phenomena of con- 
sciousness (feeling, conceiving, volition), on the other hand, bodily 
movements, arbitrary actions, resulting from the above. “The dual- 
ism of body and soul is therefore a primitive experience, and not the 
product of reflection, of however primitive a nature’. This marvelous 
theory “on the one hand” flies in the face of the facts and “on the 
other hand” explains nothing: it contents itself with a description of 
that which requires explanation. Professor Achelis comes closer to 
a correct understanding of the matter (Soztologie, in Sammlung 
Goschen, Leipzig, 1899, pp. 85 et seg.); he considers religious con- 
ceptions to be “merely a mirror of social-political conceptions and in- 
stitutions” (p. 91). Even death was able to arouse the attention of 
the savage, only in society (p. 97; Achelis is closer to the truth here 
than Cunow). “All the differentiations in political power and stand- 
ing, shown by the various concrete forms of organization, are here 
found faithfully reflected; the chieftains and kings among men are 
paralleled by the great gods among the lesser spirits, the imposing 
figure of a more or less generally recognized ruler predominates— 
quite on the earthly pattern—in the motley crowd of different gods” 
(p. 96). But Achelis’ excellent (because it is Marxian) chapter on 
religion does not prevent him from shamefully distorting Marx, from 
never mentioning him by name, and from taking off his hat to re- 
ligion! Here we are obviously dealing with a contradiction between 
the evolution of science and the interests of the bourgeoisie. 

We shall now furnish examples for the correctness of the Marxian 
standpoint. For the ancient Babylonians (two or three thousand 
years before Christ), “heaven is a prototype of earth, everything earthly 
is created in accordance with the heavenly pattern, an indissoluble 
bond exists between the two” (Professor B. A. Turayev: History of 
the Ancient Orient, vol. i, p. 124, in Russian). The gods are the 
protectors (spirits) of individuals (““God”, “My God”, are equivalent 
to our “patron saints”), of streets, cities, regions, etc. ‘The divinity 
is indissolubly connected with the destinies of its city ... its mag- 
nitude grew with the expansion of the city territory, if the inhabitants 
annexed other cities, the divinities of the subject peoples were sub- 
jected to the home divinity; on the contrary, the removal of a divine 
image from the city and the destruction of its temple were equivalent 
to the political destruction of the city” (p. 124). By the side of the 
great gods (Anu, Enlil, Ea, Sin, Shamash, etc.), there are also a 
number of smaller spirits, of celestial (zhihi) and terrestrial spirits 
(anunaki). Parallel with the formation of the Babylonian monarchy 
proceeds that of the celestial monarchy: “The rise of Babylon car- 
ried in its wake certain changes in its Pantheon. The god of Babylon 
had to take the place of honor. Such a god was Marduk, whose name 
was of Sumerian origin. He was the god of the sun in springtime. 
The dynasty of Hammurabi (a Babylonian king whose code of laws 
has been found in excavations on the site of ancient Babylon, N. B.) 
elevated him into a supreme god” (p. 127). The following “evolu- 


174 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


tion” took place in the case of the other great gods: “Enlil, king of 
heaven and earth, handed Marduk .. . the domination over the four 
lands of the world and his name as ruler of these lands.” As for 
Ea, Marduk was proclaimed his first-born son, to whom his father 
had graciously ceded his rights and his power, his rdle in the creation 
of the world (p. 127). When the Babylonian monarchy had struck 
firm root, there “gradually arose” the conception of unified power,. 
manifesting itself in countless visible forms, and accordingly bearing 
countless different names. The priests began to maintain that the 
other great gods were merely manifestations of Marduk. “Ninib is 
Marduk of Strength, Nergal is Marduk of Battle, Enlil is Marduk of 
Might and Dominion” (p. 129). Here is a fragment of a hymn of 
prayer to the god Sin, excellently characterizing the monarchic con- 
struction of the celestial power: ‘Lord, ruler of the gods, sole great 
lord in heaven and on earth . .. Thou who hast created the earth, 
founded the temples and given them names, Father, begetter of gods 
and men . . . mighty leader, whose mysterious depth has been sounded 
by no god . . . Father, Creator of all beings; Ruler, thou who desir- 
est the destinies of heaven and earth, whose bidding is inexorable, 
who providest warmth and cold, who rulest living things, what god is 
like unto thee? Who is great in Heaven? Thou alone; and on earth 
who is great? When thy word resounds in the heavens, the ihihi 
fall into the dust, when it resounds on earth the anunaki kiss the 
dust ... Ruler! In thy rule on heaven and earth, none is like unto 
thee among the gods, thy brethren”, etc. (quoted from B. Turayev, 
ibid., p. 144). Sin is here depicted almost as a celestial emperor, be- 
fore whom all appropriate ceremonies are carried out (bending the 
knee, kissing the ground, etc.). It is self-evident that the official re- 
ligion always has expressed chiefly the idea of the ruling class, as we 
may note even in little things. For instance, in the feudal period, 
when warlike virtues were esteemed highest, and the ruling class, 
representing particularly the warlike great landlords, only those feel 
at home in the hereafter who have fallen in battle, while those “for 
whose gifts in the hereafter no one can have much concern’, namely, 
the poor, fare but poorly. 

Max Weber furnishes us with a mass of valuable material concern- 
ing the religion of the ancient East Indians, in his interesting inves- 
tigations on the economic morality of the world religions (ibid., vol. 
ii, Hinduismus und Buddhismus). Here the economic and vocational 
stratification of society into classes directly assumes the form of 
castes, later confirmed by religion. According to the old legal code 
of Manu, the four chief castes are—the Brahmans (priests, scholars, 
noble literati), Kshatryas (noble knights, warriors), Vaicias (farm- 
ers, later also usurers and merchants), and Sudras (slaves, artisans, 
etc.). A caste is thus “always essentially a purely social, eventually 
a vocational subdivision of the social community” (p. 34). The 
Brahmans and Kshatryas control everything and everybody. The 
Vaigias are considered only as a “pure” caste, worthy of handing food 
or water to the Brahmans. The Sudras are divided into “pure” and 
“impure”; a noble will accept no water from the latter; no barber 
may cut the nails of their feet, etc. Below the impure Sudras there 
are also other “impure” castes; some may not enter any temples; 
others are so “impure” that even to touch them is defiling; in some 
cases approaching within sixty feet of such a person is an “impurity” 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 175 


for a noble or other “pure” person. Food its rendered “impure” by 
the mere glance of the “impure”, etc. (p. 46); even the excrement 
of a Brahman may have religious significance (p. 62). Thousands 
of rulers and religious ceremonies support the existing order. Kings 
and rulers are descended from the Kshatryas; the aristocratic nature 
of the state extends also to the economic life (price-fixing, taxes in 
kind, national storehouses), with a monstrous bureaucratic mechan- 
ism (p. 69). Max Weber considers the following as the two funda- 
mental religious ideas growing out of this soil (pp. 117-121): the idea 
of transmigration (samsara) and the doctrine of reward and pun- 
ishment (karma). All acts of men are recorded; each has his ac- 
count, his good and evil actions being balanced: after death, he will 
be reincarnated in the form to which the balance-sheet of his actions, 
at the moment of his death, entitles him. He may come to life again 
as a king, as a Brahman; he may be transformed into a worm in the - 
entrails of a dog. The basis of the most important virtues is the 
observance of the caste order. The slaves, the impure, must know 
their place. He who is unfailing, who never forgets his “impurity”, 
may perhaps in the life after death become a noble; but on earth the 
caste system is not to be tampered with. “Accidents of birth” do not 
exist; the individual is born into the caste which is his by reason 
of his conduct in an earlier life (p. 120). This doctrine expresses 
most distinctly the social order and the interests of the ruling classes, 
but we find this reflection even earlier. For instance, the gods of the 
Vedas (ancient sacred hymns) “are functional and heroic gods of a 
type externally similar to those in Homer, and the heroes of the Vedic 
period are warlike kings dwelling in mountain fastnesses and fighting 
in chariots, having retinues .. . and with . . . a predominantly cattle- 
breeding peasantry” (p. 29). The characteristic gods are “Indra, god 
of thunderstorms and therefore (like Yahveh) a warlike and heroic 
god of impetuous character ...and Varuna, the wise, all-seeing 
functional god of the eternal order, particularly the legal order”... 
(p. 29). It should be remembered that the heavens were originally 
destined only for the Brahmans and Kshatryas—(cf. p. 119). Along- 
side of the official religion of the ruling classes, there was also a 
religion of the people, often including, among other things, sexual 
manipulations. The Vedas designate one of these cults as an “evil 
custom of the subjected ones’. We are, therefore, dealing with class 
religions. For instance, here is the description of the religious split 
in Southern India (reminding one somewhat of the schism in the 
Russian Church): a portion of the lower castes and the royal artisans, 
coming from other parts, there opposed reglementation by the Brah- 
mans, and thus arose the still existing schism of the Valan-gai and the 
Iden-gai, the castes “to the right” and “to the left” (p. 324). Among 
the ancient Greeks, the feudal order, and later the slave order, were 
reflected in heaven, Zeus being the chief of all the gods, Demeter the 
goddess of agriculture, Hermes the god of trade and intercourse, 
Helios the god of the liberal professions (arts). 

The class struggle proceeded along these lines. In Athens, in the 
Fifth Century (period of highest culture and incipient decay), religion 
was one of the chief weapons of the ruling class of the commercial 
“democracy”. “In the opinion of Sophocles (one of the “orthodox” 
poets of the time, NV. B.), the entire world will perish 1f faith ceases, 
for all the moral and state regulations, according to Sophocles, depend 


176 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


on the will of the gods” (Eduard Meyer: Geschichte des Altertums, 
vol. iv, p. 140). The opposition element of the nobility and the de- 
classed strata make use of a criticism of religion in order to criticize 
the existing order. The merchant democracy imposes the death pen- 
alty for expressions of doubt as to the existence of the gods. 

The ancient Slavs present the same picture. Ancestor worship, 
worship of tribal gods, of house-gods, of vocational gods, are found 
here also. The most important national god was that of the traders 
and noble warriors, simultaneously also god of thunder: Perun. Para- 
dise was reserved for departed princes and their retinue; there was 
no place for ordinary mortals (M. N. Nikolsky: Primitive Religious 
Faith and the Origin of Christianity, in Pokrovsky’s History of Russia 
vol. i, in Russian; Nikolsky himself finds the origin of religion in 
the fear of the departed, etc.). Let us now consider the modern 
forms of the Christian religion. The Russian “Orthodox” Church 
was a precise reflection of Byzantine-Muscovite absolutism. God is 
the emperor; the Mother of God the empress; St. Nicholas the Won- 
der-Worker and the other popular saints are his ministers of state. 
Under them is an entire nation of officials (angels, archangels, cheru- 
bim, seraphim, etc.). Due division of labor exists between these 
heavenly courtiers. Saint Michael is Commander-in-Chief; the 
Mother of God is first lady of the court; Saint Nicholas is principally 
the god of fruitfulness of the soil; Saint Pantelemon is a sort of 
medicine-man; the victorious Saint George is the divine warrior; etc. 
The more distinguished saints have finer honors: better halos, fairer 
raiment, sacrifices. etc. The class struggle repeatedly assumed re- 
ligious forms in Russia (schisms; the sects of the Stundists, the 
Flagellants, Molokans, etc.). We cannot pursue this subject here, 
but merely point out that the Russian designations for divinity dis- 
tinctly indicate the true origin of these precise notions of godhood: 
“Lord” (Gospod) is practically the same as gospodin (‘“master’’); 
“God” (Bog) has the same root as bogaty (“rich”). Ruler, heav- 
enly father, judge, father, etc., such are the names of the feudal- 
noble monarch who looks upon the people as his slaves. Absolutism 
had good reason to be content with the “Orthodox” Church. 


Religion, as a super-structure, consists not only of a system of 
ideas that have been fitted into a pattern, but like science it also 
has a corresponding personal organization (ecclesiastical organiza- 
tion) and a system of special methods and rules in the worship of 
God (the “services”: “liturgy”, high mass, low mass, with many 
ceremonials, conjurations, magic formulas and a great number of 
unintelligible magic incantations), the god’s cult. 

This phase of the religious superstructure is also indissolubly 
bound up with the course of social life. “The Church has at every 
epoch reproduced and repeated contemporary society within itself, 
in its economic afd cultural traits. In the period of the feudal 
magnates, the church was a feudal magnate, while democratic ele- 
ments and the forms of financial economy were expressed by the 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 177 


Church in the period of the rise of the cities”, etc.15 The original 
form of the professional clergyman was the sorcerer, mountebank, 
clairvoyant, prophet, soothsayer, etc., whom Eduard Meyer con- 
siders as the earliest social classes known to us. In general, the 
highest class of priests were a portion of the ruling class, re- 
flecting its division of labor, some of the rulers becoming military 
leaders, others priests, others legislators, etc. It does not surprise 
us to find the Church “reproducing and repeating contemporary 
society’. 

The dominant church also constitutes an economic organization 
whose economic conditions are a portion of the general economic 
conditions of society as a whole. “Thus, we learn from the legal 
code of laws of Hammurabi, king of Babylonia, that the Temple 
of the god Shamash executed many transactions and usually col- 
lected 20 per cent. interest, the rate rising to 33 1-3 per cent. and 
even to 40 per cent. in the case of loans on grain.*® In the Middle 
Ages, the Roman Catholic Church was a veritable feudal kingdom 
with a tremendous economic system, imposts and taxes (the so 
called “tithes’”) and administrative mechanism. Similarly, the 
monasteries and lavras (groups of monasteries) in Russia ac- 
cumulated immense wealth; characteristically enough, the magnifi- 
cent edifice of the Moscow Stock Exchange belonged to the 
Troitsa-Sergius Lavra. The Church, in addition to serving as a 
pacifier of the masses, restraining them from violations of the 
established order of things, itself was and still is a portion of the 
exploiting machinery, constructed according to the same general 
plan as the larger exploiting society. 

Society, except in its initial stage, was always class society; its 
production relations were those of domination and submission; 
its political system was a reflection and an expression of this con- 
dition. Its religion justified this condition and secured its ac- 
ceptance by the masses, sometimes by very skilful means (as in the 
case of the Hindoo doctrine of reincarnation and compensation, 
discussed above). But this conciliation did not always last; the 
oppressed classes, unable to free themselves entirely from the re- 
ligious mode of thought, would set up their own religion in op- 
position to the orthodox religion; so called “heresies” arose in 
opposition to the orthodox Church doctrine; we now have an 


18 Wipper: Observations on the Theory of Historical Knowledge (in 
Russian), p. 46. 
16 Turayev, op. cit., p. 112. 


178 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


official Church and also special religious groups of “‘dissenters’’, 
sometimes organized illegally and conspiratively, with priests and 
prophets of their own, who are also their political leaders. 

A short time ago, such a view of religion and the church would 
have been considered as downright blasphemy, but even bourgeois 
investigators who have made a special study of the subject now 
accept this view. One of the best modern students of religion, 
Max Weber, arrives at the following conclusion with regard to 
Asiatic religions: “On the whole we observe everywhere the same 
group of cults, schools, sects, orders of all kinds, which is also 
characteristic of occidental antiquity. Of course, the competing 
tendencies were not looked upon with equal favor by the temporary 
majority in the ruling classes, or by the political powers. There 
were orthodox and heterodox persons, the former including a 
number of more or less legitimate schools, orders, and sects. Par- 
ticularly important for us is the observation that they were dis- 
tinguished from each other socially. In the first place, ... ac- 
cording to the strata of society in which they existed ; in the second 
place, however, . . . . according to the species of salvation min- 
istered to the various strata of their adherents. We find the 
former case, where, for instance, an upper social class that rigidly 
condemns the entire religion of redemption is opposed by popular 
soteriologists 7” among the masses, as was typical of China. But 
we also find the various social strata following different forms of 
soteriology.” 7* As an example of the class struggle waged under 
a religious flag, we may take the so called (Protestant) Reforma- 
tion, the first onslaught of certain classes on feudal rule and its 
expression in Western Europe, the Roman Catholic Church. The 
ruling princes all sided with the Pope; the petty provincial nobility 
and the bourgeoisie with the moderates, headed by Luther; the 
artisans, semi-proletarians and a portion of the peasants joined 
the extreme sects (Anabaptists, etc., sometimes not without an 
element of communism). The religious struggle, slogans, groups 
of adherents, of the various tendencies were a precise reflection 


17 From Greek Soter, “Redeemer.’”’ Max Weber is speaking of the cases 
in which we find a complete religious and political system of ideas based on 
“world-redemption” or “world-salvation”, the elimination of all social evils, 
the kingdom of God on earth. These aspirations of the oppressed classes 
assumed the form of “soteriology’, i.e., the doctrine of redemption and 
the “promised land”. N. B. 

Meat Weber, op. cit., Die asiatische Sekte und Heilandsreligiositat, 
Pp > 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 179 


of the struggle, the aspirations, and the alignments in the social- 
political field. 

The religious superstructure is thus determined by the material 
conditions of human existence; its nucleus is the reflection of the 
social-political order of society. Other ideas group themselves 
about this nucleus, but their simple axis remains the social structure 
as transferred to the invisible world, and furthermore, as viewed 
from a specific class standpoint. “Soul” is here also a function 
of social “matter”. 

The following objection might be raised in the case of capitalist 
society: while religion continues to exist in that society—through- 
out Europe in the form of monotheism—the capitalist social order 
has different forms of bourgeois domination in politics (monarchy, 
republic), and while production relations are based on domination 
and submission, they are not monarchic in character ; the capitalist 
is a monarch in his own factory, but in society the class of 
capitalists usually does not operate through a single person. The 
Marxian theory affords, however, the only possible explanation 
of the religious forms of our day; the apparent contradiction above 
mentioned is easily disposed of. 

In feudal society, the monarchs and princes and officials under 
them had control of the semi-natural economy (economy in kind) 
but under capitalism we have a powerful, new, impersonal regulator, 
of elemental nature: the market, with its incalculable caprices, 
exalting some and destroying the lives of others, playing with 
men as a blind, irrational inscrutable force. “What is our life? 
A trifle ; let the luckless dog bemoan his lot,” says the poet; divinity 
now distributes the lots. The Greeks and Romans already had 
their Parcae, their Moira, their Ananke (“necessity”), a com- 
pulsory force superior even to the gods; this conception was as- 
sociated with the growth of exchange relations and the consequent 
commercial wars which endangered the very existence of Greece. 
The gods (the individual God also) have not always been disem- 
bodied spirits; they were fond of eating and drinking, they co- 
habited with women, assuming the form of a dove for the purpose, 
in the case of the “Holy Ghost”. (In Greece, where homosexual 
practices were frequent, Zeus adopted the shape of an eagle in his 
intercourse with the boy Ganymede.) But the economic evolution 
which brought about an economy based on exchange and under- 
mined the feudal political system, not only plucked from the 
god his eagle’s and dove’s feathers, but deprived him of his 


180 ‘HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


beard, his mustaches, and the other attributes of his previous in- 
carnations. The pious bourgeois now believes in God as an un- 
known, unknowable, divine power on which all things depend, 
but with no external relation with man: the divinity is a spirit, 
not a crude aboriginal form. The condition may be stated as 
follows: economy is characterized, on the one hand by a relation 
of domination and submission, and on the other hand by un- 
organized exchanged relations; the preservation of religion at all 
is due to the former circumstance, while the latter explains the 
meagre and fleshless character of God today. 


But we must not forget that we are here considering only the fun- 
damental ideas of religion. The subsidiary notions must always be 
explained from the peculiar conditions of development. 

In concluding our consideration of religion, we must not fail to 
point out that the proletariat—holding our view of religion—is faced 
with the necessity of actively combating 1t. Hermann Gorter, in his 
book Der historische Materialismus, not only departs from philo- 
sophical materialism, but takes a purely petty bourgeois and oppor- 
tunistic view of the attitude which would regard religion as every 
man’s private affair. His view of this attitude is that it is equivalent 
to our paying no attention to religion, which will disappear of itself. 
But nothing “disappears of itself” in society; as early as in the days 
of Marx, we find the latter, in a brilliant essay (Critique of the Gotha 
Program),'® poking fun at the Gorter view of “religion a private mat- 
ter”. Marx considers this slogan to mean merely that the workers 
must demand of the bourgeois state that it shall not poke its police nose 
into things that do not concern it; but it by no means signifies that 
the workers are to be “tolerant” of all the remnants of the wretched 
past, of all the powers of reaction. We may not regard Gorter’s point 
of view on this subject as at all revolutionary or communist; it is a 
genuinely Social-Democratic point of view. 


We now turn our attention to Philosophy, which is a meditation 
on the most abstract questions, a generalization of all knowledge, a 
science of sciences. When the sciences had not yet developed or 
been differentiated from each other, philosophy and religion (from 
which it had not yet parted company) also embraced purely 
scientific questions, including that fragmentary knowledge of 
nature and man that was available at the time. But even after 
the various sciences began to exist independently, philosophy still 
retained a field of its own, namely, the common element of all the 
sciences and particularly the subject of man’s knowledge and of 
its relation to the world, etc. Philosophy must coordinate science 
in spite of the latter’s manifold subdivision; must furnish a com- 


19 This monograph is a criticism of the program adopted at the Congress 
of the German Social-Democracy at Gotha in 1875.—TRANSLATOR. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 181 


mon framework for all the things that are known, serving as a 
foundation to the total view of life (Weltauffassung). At the 
beginning of this book, we discussed the question of causality and 
teleology, which is not specifically a question of physics, or political 
economy, or philology, or statistics, but a universal concern of all 
the sciences: a philosophical question; similar is the question of 
the relation between “mind” and “matter”, in other words, 
“thought” and “being”. The individual sciences do not give 
special attention to this question, but it concerns them all, as do also 
such questions as: do our senses correctly reflect the outer world? 
does this world exist as such? what is truth? are there limits, or 
not, to our knowledge? etc. As each science classifies and sys- 
tematizes the ideas connected with its domain, so philosophy con- 
tinues to assemble and systematize our total knowledge from a 
single point of view, thus creating an orderly structure of the 
whole. Philosophy might therefore be said to occupy the highest 
place in the human spirit and it is more difficult to trace its earthly 
and material origin than in the case of other subjects. Yet here 
again we may ascertain the same basic law of nature: the final 
dependence of philosophy on the technical evolution of society, 
the level attained by the productive forces. Inevitably, we here 
encounter a complicated form of such dependence, for philosophy 
does not issue forth directly from technology, being separated from 
the latter by a number of links. A few examples will make this 
clear. We have stated that philosophy systematizes knowledge, 
the general results of the individual sciences; it therefore is directly 
conditioned by the stage at which these sciences stand; if for any 
cause the social sciences develop, philosophy will shade off in that 
direction; but if, at the given time, the natural sciences engage 
the general attention, the fundamental note of philosophy will be 
quite different. These results are produced by the social psy- 
chology, the general mental attitude, prevailing in the given time 
and place, which is in turn an expression of the alignment of 
classes, the conditions of their existence; these “conditions of 
existence in general” are governed by the situation of the classes 
in the social economy, and the latter is the result of the given level 
of the productive forces. We thus find a number of links inter- 
posed between the productive forces (technology) and philosophy. 

If a certain philosophic doctrine is gloomy in its nature (a pes- 
simistic philosophy), or asserts the impossibility of all knowledge, 
or the vanity of all things, their frail and transitorv nature, we 


ae ee | 


182 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


must look for an explanation to the current psychology from which 
such a philosophy is born. Detailed investigation will show that 
such gloomy thoughts do not arise independently, but that they 
must express a defeat of some section or class of society, or of 
all classes of society; there seems to be no escape, the love of life 
has been lost; a gloomy philosophy is the product of this mood. 
Or, suppose a certain society is involved in a passionate struggle 
between the classes and their parties; this condition will be re- 
flected in the philosophy of the period, for man does not lead 
a double life: it is the same man or the same class that is engaged 
in the political struggle and cogitating on the “final cause” of 
things. Such social struggles will place their stamp on the psy- 
chology and be reflected in the “sublimest’’ constructions. Or, if 
we assume a society whose tempo has become excessively slow: 
life creeping along monotonously day by day; today another yes- 
terday, tomorrow another today, etc.; tradition, routine, time- 
honored precedent, control all things; no changes in technology, 
in social life, in science ; men die, other men are born, with thoughts 
precisely like those of their predecessors, etc. Such a rigidity of 
a whole society will necessarily cause its philosophy to be based in 
general on the notion of immutability, of permanence. The causal 
chain may be traced back as follows: a philosophy of inertia; a 
science of inertia; a social psychology of inertia; a technology of 
inertia. Examples might be multiplied, but we consider that the 
ultimate dependence of philosophy on the social economy and 
technology has been proved. 


The entire history of philosophic thought will support the above. 

In ancient Greece, usually considered the classic home of philosophy, 
the earliest philosophical systems arose in the Ionic commercial cities. 
These cities lay on the great maritime routes between Asia Minor 
and Europe; the meshes of economic relations with Egypt also cen- 
tered here. More than anywhere else in the world as then known 
(Sixth and Fifth Centuries, B.c.), trade, artisan work, and slave in- 
dustry—particularly trade—were developed here. Together with eco- 
nomic intercourse with other countries, there was an exchange of 
ideas, influence of Babylon, Egypt; “cultural life’ flourished. We 
have the beginnings of the natural sciences, astronomy, geometry, 
arithmetic, medicine. On this basis, the first philosophical systems 
also grew up: so called natural philosophy, 1.e., a philosophy connected 
with the natural sciences, its task being to find the natural basis of all 
being. The Ionic school (Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes, and 
their disciples) sought the unity of matter now in water, now in air, 
now in infinity, etc. In addition to their observations on the “essence 
of things”, we find many scientific observations among these philoso- 
phers; Anaximander, for example, devised a geographical map that 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 183 


remained in use for some time. In the Ionic school, philosophical 
thought was not yet separated from scientific observations connected 
with practice. We then find a growth of wealth, its accumulation, 
an increase of slave labor, of parasitism in the higher classes of 
society; simultaneously, an increased contempt for labor, for the life 
of the worker, for production, for a direct engaging in trade (not 
through employees); all this retarded the development of scientific 
technical thought, transforming philosophy into a thoroughly un- 
worldly “speculation”. But it does not follow that philosophy there- 
fore “developed out of itself”; it continued to be shaped and condi- 
tioned by the social life. For instance, let us consider the philosophy 
of one of the greatest Greek philosophers, Heraclitus of Ephesus; he 
was born in a rich commercial city which had passed through many 
tribulations (wars, civil wars, etc.). “In the Era of Tyrants, Ephesus 
was as much torn by internal dissension as any other Ionic city” 
(Eduard Meyer, ibid., p. 216). The commercial aristocracy had struck 
deep roots here and was politically dominant over the agrarian aris- 
tocracy. Heraclitus was of an old noble family, which had retained 
feudal-royal traditions, “and he was, if not a partisan of the aristo- 
crats, yet a fanatical opponent of the democracy, of rule by the blind 
mob” (p. 217). Being a counter-revolutionary, he shunned politics 
himself, and he even expounded his philosophy in a particularly 
obscure, semi-conspirative language. “One is worth tens of thousands 
for me, if he is the best one,” he wrote. “What manner of sense and 
reason have they (the present rulers, N. B.)? They run after min- 
strels and permit the mob to teach them, since they know not that 
most men are evil and few good. Rather than all other things, the 
best choose a single thing, namely, eternal fame among mortals; but 
the mob feed themselves like cattle’ (p. 218). It is to this principle 
of the persecuted aristocracy of birth that we must trace the philosophy 
of Heraclitus, born among turbulent transformations and dissensions. 
Society, torn by many conflicts, nevertheless exists as a whole, with 
all its contrasts and confusions. Such is the universe also. The 
essence of each thing consists in the fact that it is a whole and not 
a whole, concordant and discordant, constructive and destructive, one 
consisting of all and all of one. ... It is precisely in these contrasts 
that we have the unity, the “essence of things” (p. 220). It is folly 
to speak of peace when there is no peace; one cannot have peace when 
the enemy prevails. Therefore: ‘“War is Father and King (!) of all 
things, he has made some men gods, others men, some slaves, others 
free men.” “Homer, who wished to see struggle (eris) eliminated 
from among gods and men, was not aware that he was thus renouncing 
all new birth” (p. 220). It is absurd to speak of peace when all is in 
commotion and change. As a matter of fact, there is nothing rigid 
and immutable. ‘We cannot step into the same river, for ever dif- 
ferent water flows along.” We hear it said everywhere that the 
present order is good, but truth is relative. “The ocean is the purest 
and the impurest water, potable and beneficent for fishes, non-potable 
and ruinous for men” (p. 220). It matters not that merchants and 
democratic upstarts now rule the city; we must not regard only the 
surface of things, but must penetrate below the surface: “The sense 
is deceived; even the eye, a better witness than the ear” (p. 219). 
Changes are constantly maturing in life; what exists must perish. 
“Fire lives through the death of Earth, Air through the death of 


184 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Fire; Water lives through the death of Air, Earth through the death 
of Water.” Not only are the classes constantly succeeding one an- 
other, but social things also are constantly changing place. “Every- 
thing ts exchanged against fire, and fire against everything, as com- 
modities against gold and gold against commodities” (p. 221). The 
essence of society is this substance of gold, which can purchase every- 
thing; the omnipresent and impenetrable power of gold. Therefore, 
Fire, the incarnation of this force, is the essence of things, the life- 
giving force, from which all else emanates. “The life spirit also, 
the soul, is Fire and warmth.” Market, competition, war, are ele- 
mental in nature; they are a compulsory and omnipotent fate. There- 
fore God also is not a human being with curly hair, but a fleshless, 
inevitable universal law; “the predestined compulsion of fate (eluappevn 
dvavkn), imposing its eternal regulations, its ‘measures’ on all things, 
which they may not exceed without falling forfeit to the Erynnyes, 
the hand maidens of justice.” But divinity, reason, Logos, fate, rul- 
ing the world, will ultimately reestablish justice, which has been 
crushed to earth; the day of judgment will come when “Fire will fall 
upon all things and seize and judge them.” “Dike (Justice) will take 
hold of the architects and witnesses of falsehood” (p. 222). 

We can thus see the factors of the social life of his times peering 
through the philosophy of Heraclitus, woven in a peculiar pattern: 
the nature of the economy developing under the banner of gold, the 
class struggle, the aristocracy as an opposition party, the hope for a 
better future, words of encouragement, faith in victory, a support for 
this faith in the fact that all things are changing, the assumption of 
an impersonal destiny and a mysterious Reason ruling the world— 
these reflections of the laws of a commercial world, with competition 
and warfare, rejecting productive labor; the aristocrats by birth, hat- 
ing the mob; the traditions of the nobility and the feudal warrior caste, 
etc., etc. These are the social roots of Heraclitus’ philosophical con- 
structions. Quite characteristically, while Heraclitus, a member of 
the opposition and representing the aristocracy, and therefore not 
interested in preserving the existing order of things, was defending 
the principle of change, of contradictions, of struggle, of dynamics, 
the philosophers of the other—the ruling—school were with equal 
vigor defending the principle of immutability and permanence. The 
greatest of these philosophers was Parmenides. Anaxagoras, a close 
associate of the leader of the Athenian commercial democracy in the 
Fiith Century, Pericles, and the official state philosopher of Athens, 
so to speak, made a very ingenious attempt to shift the center of grav- 
ity of this passionate philosophical dispute. “The Hellenes,” he 
taught, “have no right to speak of rising and passing away, for existing 
things clearly show that what is present now is produced by mixture 
and elimination” (Eduard Meyer, ibid., p. 235). In other words, 
Anaxagoras represents the point of view of gradual evolution, which 
is precisely what we should expect from the social position of his class. 
Anaxagoras, by the way, among his other ideas, also did much to 
advance the atomic theory. 

We cannot dwell in detail here on Greek philosophy. It was mani- 
festly incapable of finding a solution by making it up of whole cloth 
and elaborating intangible impressions of social life, which was mean- 
while becoming more and more confused. The extremely compli- 
cated struggle and the very restless condition of the leading cities pro- 


——— 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 185 


duced numerous currents, disputes, and criticisms; the social ties, stand- 
ards, and traditional morals were falling into decay. Men “were be- 
coming confused”. Parallel with this tendency, the whole of philoso- 
phy accomplished a sudden shift in the direction of a so called prac- 
tical philosophy, 2.e., considerations concerning the nature of man, 
morality, etc. Instead of investigating the essence of the universe, 
attention began now to be given to the essence of man, of standards of 
conduct, of duty, of “good” and “evil”; on the one hand we have the 


_ sophists, subjecting everything to their criticism, on the other hand 


Socrates. We have already mentioned, at the beginning of this book, 
the greatest philosopher of slaveholding antiquity, a man of out- 
spoken “Black Hundred” tendencies, Plato, with his perfected system 
of philosophical idealism, incorporating, at one and the same time, 
pure reason and the Good as well as the big stick for the slaves. We 
may take another example, from the period of the decay of the Roman 
Empire, simultaneously a period of decay of the entire ancient Mediter- 
ranean civilization. The cities grew with tremendous rapidity; com- 
modities were accumulated by plundering colonies and exploiting 
slaves; the ruling class was absolutely parasitic, as were also the 
great numbers of free lumpenproletariat, corrupted by state alms; the 
slaves were oppressed as never before; such, in broad outline, is the 
internal situation. Seneca, a philosopher of the Stoic school, a rich 
man, imparts the philosophy of life to his friend Lucilius: ‘What 
is there that can tempt you away from death? You have tasted all 
the enjoyments that might make you hesitate; none of them are strange 
to you; you have had your fill of all. You know the taste of wine 
and of honey; is it not a matter of indifference to you whether one 
hundred or one thousand bottles of them pass down your throat? 
Also, you have tasted oysters and crabs. Thanks to your splendid 
living, nothing remains untasted for you in the years that are to 
come. And can you not separate yourself from these things? What 
is it you may still have to regret? Friends? Home? Do you really 
value them so highly that you would sacrifice yourself for them to the 
extent of postponing your supper-hour? Oh, had it been in your 
power, you would have extinguished the sun itself, for you have ac- 
complished nothing worthy of the light. Confess it: you are hesitat- 
ing to die, not because you will be sorry to leave the Curia, the Forum, 
or the beauties of nature. You are merely sorry to leave the flesh- 
market, and yet you have already tasted all its supplies.” (Seneca: 
Letter to Lucilius, here quoted from N. Vassilyev: The Question of 
the Decay of the Western Roman Empire, Transactions of the Um- 
versity of Kazan, vol. 31, in Russian). This is a philosophy of abso- 
lute individualism, of persons recognizing no social ties; a pessimism, 
an advocacy of death, a fruitless criticism of all social institutions, 
a worship of abstract reason which despises all things; such is the 
philosophy of the time. Is it not a faithful reflection of the psychol- 
ogy of an over-sated, decaying, parasitic class, which has lost all taste 
for life? This psychology is an outcome of the social-economic con- 
ditions prevailing at the time. 

In the Middle Ages, the dominant system in Europe was that of 
feudalism, with a huge hierarchy of subjection; the Church also was 
constructed along these lines. Standards of law, manners, religion, 
all these forms of the superstructure were expressive of this system 
and served to consolidate it. It is obvious how significant a réle must 


186 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


here be played by religion. For the foundation of religion is a rela- 
tion of domination and subjection; consequently, particularly on the 
firm foundations of feudalism, a system of religious, spiritual serfdom 
necessarily and inevitably flourished. Therefore, philosophy also is 
distinctly religious in tone; i+ served as the maidservant of divinity 
(ancilla theologiae). 

The typical orthodox philosopher of the Middle Ages, Thomas 
Aquinas (1225-1274; his principal work is the Summa Theologiae, 
“Theological Encyclopedia’) clearly reflects the feudal conditions in 
his philosophy. The world is divided into two portions: the everyday 
visible world and the “forms inhabiting it”, The highest and “purest” 
form is God. In addition to God, there are certain particular, specific 
“forms” (formae separatae), arranged according to certain degrees 
of dignity or rank: angels, the souls of men, etc. This entire philo- 
sophical system is based on the idea of constancy, of tradition, of au- 
thority. ‘Step by step, as the bourgeoisie developed, there also de- 
veloped an immense advance of science; astronomy, mechanics, 
physics, anatomy, physiology, again received attention. The bour- 
geoisie needed, in order to develop its industrial production, a science 
that would investigate the properties of natural bodies and the mode 
of operation of natural forces. Hitherto, however, science had been 
only the humble handmaiden of the church. . . . Now science rebelled 
against the church; the bourgeoisie needed science and joined in the 
rebellion” (Friedrich Engels: Uber historischen Materialismus, Die 
Neue Zeit, 1893, vol. ii, part i, p. 42). These needs for further 
growth were even reflected in cases where an agrarian aristocracy was 
at the helm. Thus, in England, the first harbinger of the great up- 
heaval in the entire conception of the universe, and consequently in 
philosophy also, was Lord Francis Bacon (1561-1626). Bacon held 
that nature should be studied in order to be controlled. For this, we 
need above all “the art of invention” (ars inveniend1) ; the old scholas- 
-tic nonsense, and even Aristotle, must be thrown into the scrap- 
heap. Now, “the old is done for; reason is victorious” (vetustas 
cessit, ratio vicit). Marx considered Bacon as the founder of English 
materialism. “For him, natural science was true science and the 
physics of the senses was the most distinguished part of natural sci- 
ence. ... In his teaching, the sciences cannot deceive us; they are 
the source of all knowledge. Science means experimental science; it 
consists of the application of a rational method to that which is per- 
ceived by the senses. Induction, analysis, comparison, observation, 
experiment, are the principal conditions for a rational method. Among 
the properties inherent in matter, motion is the first and foremost.” 
But Marx also discovers many “theological inconsistencies” in Bacon. 
(Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels: Die heilige Familie, 1845, pp. 
201 et seq., also quoted by Engels in Uber historischen Materialismus, 
cited above.) In view of the period, and the point of view of Bacon’s 
class, we could not expect any other condition. 

French materialism in the Eighteenth Century declared war most 
emphatically on the feudal conception of the universe, in the field of 
philosophy, just as the bourgeoisie was declaring war on feudal society 
in the field of politics and economy. This materialism supported and 
energetically expounded the doctrine of the English philosopher Locke, 
according to which man has no “innate ideas”, all the psychical ele- 
ments in man being merely a “modification” of feeling; this phase 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 187 


of the doctrine is termed sensualism. Feeling is declared a property 
of matter. Simultaneously, Locke believed in the omnipotence of 
human reason and of “rationalism”, the whole being permeated with 
an individualism that is also found expressed in the field of “practical 
philosophy” (the “rights” of the individual, -the “freedom” of the in- 
dividual, etc.). This philosophy, extremely revolutionary in its time, 
is an outgrowth of the revolutionary position of the bourgeoisie of 
the period, which was destroying the feudal world, its traditions, its 
Church, its religion, and its theological and conservative philosophy. 
The revolutionary attitude of the bourgeoisie may easily be explained 
by the social economy of the Eighteenth Century and by the con- 
ditions of the productive forces, which had encountered, in the feudal 
system, a great obstacle in their development, and which, operating 
through the bourgeoisie, the petty bourgeoisie, the artisans, and the 
semi-proletarians, were obliged to break down these barriers. 

In order to make the dependence of philosophy on the course of 
social life even clearer, we shall consider as our final example the 
philosophy of the bourgeoisie in the period of its decay, after the im- 
perialist world war of 1914-1918. The great crisis of the war, the 
crisis in economy, the social crisis which is bringing about a collapse 
of capitalism before our eyes, shattering its entire cultural structure 
to its very foundations, is producing among the ruling classes a psy- 
chology of despair, of profound skepticism, of pessimism, a lack of 
confidence in one’s own forces, in the power of the intellect in gen- 
eral; this results in a return to mysticism, a seeking for the mysterious, 
an inclination toward occult rites and ancient religions, by the side of 
a reawakening of the modern form of parlor magic, spiritualism. In 
many of its traits, this philosophy recalls that of the ruling classes 
in the declining period of the Roman Empire. We shall close with a 
few specimens of this philosophy, characteristic of the collapse of 
capitalism. 

Paul Ernst (Der Zusammenbruch des deutschen Idealismus, Leip- 
zig, 1918) is our first example. Ernst offers a criticism of the capi- 
talist organization which led to war; this blind organization oppressed 
the individuality of man. “Whence can a change come? There is 
but one way: humanity must bethink itself of itself; it must become 
aware of the fact that the most distinguished task imposed upon it 
by God (!) is that of setting goals for itself and its actions” (p. 
400). Ideal wisdom, says Ernst, is found in China! ‘“We must at- 
tain clarity on the point that the foundations for the sufferings of 
men do not lie in institutions, but in the attitudes creating institu- 
tions. .. . Why has capitalism never succeeded in gaining a foothold 
in China? For the simple reason that the Chinese loves and honors 
agricultural work, and always succeeds in obtaining the little parcel 
of land (!) that he needs, and can produce on it what is required for 
his simple tastes. ... We want no reforms or revolutions, but an 
introspective return to true morality” (pp. 406, 407). The ultimate 
source of all the goals are men of a higher order. “The highest of 
our metaphysical thought we owe to men who lived naked in the for- 
ests in India and nourished themselves on grains of rice, begged by 
their disciples” (p. 418). Therefore, we are to infer, according to 
Ernst, that the highest forms and methods of knowledge are those 
devised by men who have sucked the divine wisdom from their own 
thumbs; the highest forms of life are those of the Chinese peasant and 


ORNATE oy 


188 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


his virtuous spouse. The solution offered by present-day philosophical 
thinking is: a flight from civilization, which has run into a blind 
alley. 

Hermann Keyserling says in his Retsetagebuch eines Philosophen: 
“All truth (is) in the last analysis symbolical; the sun more correctly 
expresses the character of the divine . . . than does the best formula- 
tion of a conception. Therefore, all the worshipers of God are right 
in the eyes of God” (the author is not joking; he is serious! N. B.). 
“The divine reveals itself to man everywhere in the frame of his in- 
timate prejudices.” According to Keyserling, the Hindu fakirs are 
the ideal in faith and knowledge; for there is no cruder superstition 
than the belief in the insurmountable character of natural determin- 
ism. .. . Man is spirit in his profoundest essence, and the more he 
recognizes this, the more firmly he believes it, the more of his fetters 
will fall away from him. It is therefore possible that, as in the Hindu 
myth, perfect knowledge may even overcome death (pp. 282, 283). 
“And he who is perfectly instructed, he who is of spiritual practices, 
utilizes faith according to his desire as an instrument. So far had 
gone the greatest among the Indians. ... They knew that all re- 
ligious formations were of human origin. But they sacrificed now 
to this god, now to that, devout in their hearts, knowing well that this 
practice is useful to the scul” (p. 284), etc., etc. 

Oswald Spengler says in Der Untergang des Abendlandes 
(Miinchen, 1920): ‘Systematic philosophy is today infinitely remote 
from us; ethical philosophy has reached its termination. There is 
still a third possibility, corresponding to Hellenic skepticism, within 
the Western mentality” (p. 63). This is a skeptical history of philoso- 
phy. Spengler considers the entire history of humanity and puts the 
idea of fate in the place of the idea of causality. It devolves upon 
each society, according to Spengler, to accomplish a cycle, running 
from youth to age and terminating in death; the European cultural 
cycle has exhausted its creative powers and is on the downward path. 
Our task is to predict this downward motion and adapt ourselves to 
the inevitable. 

The bourgeois philosophers, like the over-satisfied Roman higher 
bureaucrats, and the effeminate noble “sages” make journeys to foreign 
countries, in quest of men going about naked, in order to learn the 
great secret. Spengler predicts the fate of the Roman Empire for 
Europe, but he is reckoning without his host; while his glances have 
been turned to India and China, he has been blind to the proletariat 
at home. While in “ancient times” the lower classes were only capable 
of bringing about the “philosophy” of Christianity, we now have Marx- 
ian communism which cannot but gain strength in the ruins of the 
“Abendland” (occident). This communism has its own philosophy, a 
philosophy of action and battle, of scientific knowledge and revolu- 
tionary practice. 

We thus are again led to conclude that philosophy also is not a 
thing that is independent of social life, but that it is a quantity that 
changes in accordance with the changes in the various phases of 
society, t.e., in the last analysis, with the changes in economy and 
technology. 


We shall now take up another order of social phenomena—art. 
Art is as much a product of the social life as is science or any 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 189 


other outgrowth of material production; the expression “objects 
of art’ will make this apparent. But art is an outgrowth of the 
social life in the further sense that it is a form of mental activity. 
Like science, it can develop only at a certain level of productive 
labor, in default of which it will wither and perish. But the sub- 
ject of art is sufficiently complicated to justify an investigation of 
the manner in which it is determined by the course of social life; 
the first question requiring an answer is: what is art; what is its 
fundamental social function? 

Science classifies, arranges, clarifies, eliminates the contradic- 
tions in, the thoughts of men; it constructs a complete raiment of 
scientific ideas and theories out of fragmentary knowledge. But 
social man not only thinks, he also feels; he suffers, enjoys, regrets, 
rejoices, mourns, despairs, etc.; his thoughts may be of infinite 
complexity and delicacy; his psychic experiences may be tuned 
according to this note or that. Art systematizes these feelings and 
expresses them in artistic form, in words, or in tones, in gestures 
(for example, the dance), or by other means, which sometimes 
are quite material, as in architecture. We may formulate this 
condition in other words: we may say, for example, that art is a 
means of “socializing the feelings”; or, as Leo Tolstoi correctly 
says in his book, art is a means of emotionally “infecting” men. 
The hearers of a musical work expressive of a certain mood will 
be “infected”, permeated, with this mood; the feeling of the indi- 
vidual composer becomes the feeling of many persons, has been 
transferred to them, has “influenced” them; a psychic state has 
here been “socialized”. The same holds good in any other art; 
painting, architecture, poetry, sculpture, etc. 

The nature of art is now clear: it is a systematization of feelings 
in forms; the direct function of art in socializing, transferring, 
disseminating these feelings, in society, is now also clear. 

What conditions the development of art? What are the forms 
of its dependence on the course of social evolution? In order 
to answer these questions, we must analyze an art—we have 
selected Music for the purpose—into its component parts. Our 
investigation will show the following elements: 1. the element of 
objective material things, the musical technology: musical instru- 
ments and groups of musical instruments (orchestra, quartette, 
etc.; the combinations of instruments may be likened to combina- 
tions of machines and tools in factories) ; also, physical symbols 
and tokens: systems of notation, musical scores, etc.; 2. the human 


190 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


organization; these include many forms of human association in 
musical work (distribution of persons in the orchestra, the chorus, 
in the process of musical creation; also, musical clubs and socie- 
ties of all kinds); 3. the formal elements of music, including 
rhythm, harmony (corresponding to symmetry in the graphic and 
plastic arts), etc.; 4. the methods of uniting the various forms, 
principles of construction, what corresponds to style in some arts; 
in a broader sense, the type of artistic form; 5. the content of the 
art work, or, if we are dealing with an entire movement or tend- 
ency, the content of all the works; we are chiefly concerned here 
not with the method of performance, but with its substance, let 
us say with the choice of “subject” of presentation; 6. as a “super- 
structure of the superstructure’, we may also include, in music, 
the theory of musical technique (theory of counterpoint, etc.). 

Let us now consider the various causal relations between the 
evolution of music and social evolution in general, which is ulti- 
mately based on the economic and technical evolution of society. 

First. We shall not again emphasize the fact that art may not 
flourish before a certain level has been attained in the productive 
forces of society. 

Second. Only in a certain social “atmosphere” may art (and 
specifically, music) be singled out for development from among 
the innumerable forms of the superstructure. For example, in 
‘discussing the question of technology and art among the Greeks 
in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.c., we found that there was 
no growth of technical or natural sciences at all, but that philo- 
sophical speculation was widespread. There is no doubt that the 
“superstructure” in general rises at a fast pace if social technology 
is moving at a fast pace; but there is also no doubt that the super- 
structure does not move forward (or backward) uniformly, nor 
does material production advance uniformly; for instance, the 
manufacture of sausages may not keep abreast of the evolution 
of the productive forces to the same extent as the construction 
of locomotives or the production of castor oil. Certain forms of 
production usually develop much faster than others; in fact some 
such forms may be entirely absent, for certain reasons. The 
“superstructure” shows the same conditions: in Athens, in the 
Fifth Century B.c., technology fared badly, while speculative phi- 
losophy flourished. In America, in the Twentieth Century, tech- 
nology is supreme and philosophy is neglected. Church hymns 
(a branch of the general field of music) were once universal, but 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 191 


it would be difficult to find many persons today—except a few 
moldy old men and pious old women—who are fond of the con- 
ventional hymns. The mental “shoots” of society are the highest 
outgrowth of the superstructure, and we naturally expect that 
shoot to burgeon that happens to receive the most generous supply 
of sap. In ancient Athens it was an “ignoble” thing, worthy only 
of stupid artisans, to concern oneself with an investigation of 
nature by means of experiment; the disfavor in which the natural 
sciences were held is easy to understand; it was a result of the 
class alignment, of the social economy, which in its turn was 
conditioned by the social technology. Similarly, in the case of 
music, hymns might be quite important at an epoch when music 
was still the “handmaiden”—as was also philosophy—of religion. 
But such hymns are as appropriate to a highly developed capi- 
talist society as General Ludendorff’s trousers to Father Sergius. 
The function of music in society is therefore dependent on the 
state of the latter, on society’s mood, means, views, feelings, etc. 
The explanation of the latter is found in the class alignment and 
the class psychology, which are ultimately based on the social 
economy and the conditions of its growth. 

Third. The “technique” of music depends in the first place on 
the technique of production. Savages cannot build pianos;, this 
prevents them from playing the instrument or composing pieces 
for it. It is sufficient to compare the primitive musical instruments 
(aside from the natural instrument, the human voice), those de- 
veloped from horn and pipe, from the needs of the chase,?? with 
the complicated construction of the modern piano, to grasp fully 
the function of these instruments. “Music is not possible as an 
independent art until appropriate tools have taken shape and de- 
veloped: the instruments and their development.” 74 “Music can 
express the gamut of emotions only within the scale of the avail- 
able instruments.” 2? The production of such things as the tele- 
scope and the piano are a portion of the social material produc- 
tion; it is obvious that musical “technique” (now meaning: the 
instruments) depends on the technique of this material production. 

Fourth. The organization of persons is also directly connected 
with the bases of the social evolution. For instance, the distribu- 


20 Kothe-Prohazka: Abriss der allgemeinen Musikgeschichte, Leipzig, 
1919, Dp. 4. 

21Lu Marten: Historisch-materialistisches tiber Wesen und Verinderung 
der Kiinste, published by Jugend-Internationale, Berlin, p. 18. 

22 Tbid., p. 18. 


192 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


tion of the members of an orchestra is determined precisely as in 
the factory, by the instruments and groups of instruments; in 
other words, the arrangement and organization of these members 
is here conditioned by musical technique (in our restricted sense 
of the word) and, through it, based on the stage in social evolu- 
tion, on the technique of material production as such. Similarly, 
the organization of persons in another musical field, let us say, 
a musical society, is the result of a number of conditions of social 
life, principally, a love of music (resulting from the social psychol- 
ogy, as above discussed), the opportunities afforded the various 
classes to indulge this predilection (for instance, the amount of 
unoccupied time available to the various classes, i.e., the class 
alignment and the degree of productivity of social labor), which 
elements govern the number of members, the extent and nature 
of their activity, the character of the membership, etc. Or, in the 
case of the creative process, we also find a number of forms for 
the human relations involved, the oldest of which is the impersonal 
stage (individual names are not handed down), the so called “folk- 
songs’. Here the art work is produced in an elemental manner 
by thousands of nameless artists. Quite different is the case when 
the individual artist works “on order’, by the command of a 
prince, king or wealthy man. The case is again different when 
the artist works as an artisan for an unknown market, on whose 
caprices he depends. An artistic production may also result when 
the latter assumes the form of a social service, etc. These forms 
of human relations are obviously based directly on the economic 
structure. In the slaveholding system, the musicians were slaves; 
not so long ago, we still had serf musicians in Russia, performing 
and composing not to satisfy a market requirement, but at the 
command of a feudal magnate. Of course, these elements are 
expressed in the art work. 

Fifth. The formal elements (rhythm, harmony, etc.) are also 
connected with the social life. Many of these elements are already 
present in prehistoric times, even in the animal kingdom. Karl 
Bucher says,?* concerning rhythm among horses: “Rhythm springs 
from the organic nature of man. Every normal use of his animal 
body he seems to control, as a regulating element of economic 
utilization of energy. The trotting horse and the laden camel 
move as rhythmically as the rowing fisherman and the hammering 
blacksmith. Rhythm awakens a feeling of well-being; it there- 


23 Arbeit und Rhythmus, Leipzig, 1919, p. 454. 





EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 198 


fore not only renders work easier, but is a source of esthetic 
pleasure and the element of art to which all persons respond, 
regardless of their mental nature.” Quite true; but rhythm has 
also developed—as Bucher points out in “his work—under the 
influence of social relations and particularly under the direct influ- 
ence of material labor (the “workers’ songs’, like the Russian 
Dubinushka, arose on the same basis; rhythm here is an instru- 
ment of labor organization). In other words, while the formal 
elements (such as rhythm) may have arisen in prehistoric times, 
i.e., before man became man, they do not evolve from within them- 
selves only, but under the influence of social evolution. 


A further circumstance is worth mentioning. At a certain stage 
of development, only the simplest rhythms are available to man (“as 
monotonous as the singing of cannibals’) ; he has no ear for the com- 
plicated rhythm perceived by a man at a different stage of develop- 
ment. A. V. Lunacharsky, in one of his essays on art, says: ‘From 
all of the above (1.e., the determining rdle of economy, N. B.) it by 
no means follows that ... the forms of creative work may not have 
their own immanent psycho-physiological laws; they have such laws 
and are entirely conditioned by them (my italics, N. B.) in their spe- 
cific form, while the content is given by the social environment.” We 
learn later on what is meant by this: “The immanent psychological 
law of evolution in art is the law of complication. Impressions of 
similar energy and intricacy begin, after a number of repetitions, to 
exert less and less force on the mind, and to be capable of suggesting 
a lower intricacy. We experience a sense of monotony, of boredom 
(‘it gets on my nerves’) ; it follows that every school of art will nat- 
urally seek to make more complicated and to enhance the effect of its 
works” (A. V. Lunacharsky: Further Remarks on the Theatre and 
Socialism, in the collection Vershiny, p. 196 et seq., in Russian). We 
thus find the ‘“psycho-physiology” contrasted with the “economy”; the 
“content” is left to economy, the “form” to psycho-physiology. This 
point of view seems to us to be at least insufficient, if not wrong. As 
a matter of fact, if we consider the evolution of those elements that 
we regard as formal, we shall find that this evolution has by no means 
proceeded at a uniform rate. The music of the savage, the number 
of harmonious tones produced by him, was very poor; yet, the social 
evolution itself was not characterized by great speed; manifestly the 
musical supply lasted for a long time, did not produce “boredom” for 
along time. ‘Antiquity did not know our modern harmony and made 
use of unison arrangements; it took a long time for it to become ac- 
customed to the octave. . . . We have reason to believe that it is only 
recently that the fourth has been recognized as a harmonic interval” 
(L. Obolensky: The Scientific Bases of the Beautiful and of Art, p. 
97, in Russian). Therefore, the formal elements become more com- 
plicated as a consequence of the more complicated structure of life, 
for an increasing intricacy of life alters the psycho-physiological 
‘nature’ of man. The “crude” hearing of the savage is as much a 
function of social evolution as is the “fine” hearing of the inhabitants 
of the great capitalist cities with their extremely delicate nervous or- 


194 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


ganization. The “immanent laws” therefore, are merely another phase 
of the social evolution. And since the social evolution is conditioned 
by the evolution of the productive forces, they constitute “in the last 
analysis” a function of these productive forces. For, man alters his 
nature in accordance with his influence on the external universe. 


Sixth. The type, the style, is also conditioned by the course of 
social life. It embodies the current psychology and ideology; it 
expresses those feelings and thoughts, those moods and beliefs, 
those impressions, those current forms of thought, that “are in 
the air”. Style is not only external form, but also “embodied 
content with its corresponding objective symbols”; the history of 
the styles is an expression of the “history of the systems of life’’.** 
“The style of form is a reflex of the social vitality.”?5 The 
religious music of the ancient Hindoo hymns (the Vedas) have 
not the same “style” or construction as—let us say—a French 
music-hall song or the battle-song of the revolution, the Mar- 
seillaise. These productions are the outgrowth of different en- 
vironments, different social soils, and their form is consequently 
different ; the religious hymn, the battle-song, the vaudeville song, 
cannot be composed or constructed in the same way; even their 
form expresses different feelings, thoughts, and views. This dif- 
ference is a result of the difference in the situation of the societies 
or classes involved, and this difference is conditioned by the eco- 
nomic development and consequently, by the state of the produc- 
tive forces. Furthermore, the style depends also in high degree 
on the material conditions of the specific work of art (for instance, 
instrumental music is conditioned by the nature of the instrument) 
as well as by the method of artistic creation (we have already 
discussed the organization of persons in music), etc. All these 
phases likewise depend on the fundamental causal relation in social 
evolution. 

Seventh. The content (“subject”), almost impossible to isolate 
from the form, is obviously determined by the social environment, 
as may be readily seen from the history of the arts. It is obvious 
that artistic form will be given to what is engaging the attention 
of men in one way or another at the given moment. The creative 
spirit is not stimulated by subjects that do not hold its attention, 
but those things that constitute the central interest of society or 


24Fritz Burger: Weltanschauungsprobleme und Lebenssysteme in der 
Kunst der Vergangenheit, p. 23. 


25 Wilhelm Hausenstein, Die Kunst und die Gesellschaft, Minchen, Verlag 
Piper, p. 32 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 195 


of its various classes are given treatment, thus reflecting this gen- 
eral interest in the form of “mental labor”. ‘There is indeed a 
certain moral temperature governing the general condition of 
manners and minds (des esprits).” 7° “Thé artistic family (Taine 
here means a specific ‘school’ or tendency in art. N.B.) is situated 
within a larger community; namely, the surrounding world, whose 
taste conforms with that of the school. For the state of morals 
and of mental life is the same for the public as for the artists; the 
latter are not isolated men.” ?7 These statements by Taine are 
entirely correct, but Taine seems incapable of thinking them out 
to their ultimate conclusions, which would lead him into the accept- 
ance of impious materialistic inferences. We have again and 
again discussed, in another shape, this question of the “moral 
temperature” of the “milieu”, of which Taine speaks; both 
*morals” and “mental life” in general, feelings and moods, do not 
develop out of themselves ; we know that this social consciousness is 
determined by the social being, 1.e., the conditions of existence of 
society and its various parts (classes, groups). These conditions 
also give birth to the various “tastes”. As a result, the content 
of art is also determined, in the last analysis, by the fundamental 
natural law character of social evolution; its content is a function 
of the social economy, and therefore of the productive forces. 

Eighth. Musical theory is obviously directly connected with all 
the foregoing, and therefore “subject” to the movement of the 
productive forces of society. 

We have outlined the fundamental chains of causality that exist 
in music; they do not at all exhaust the subject; in the first place, 
probably not all of these relations have been enumerated above, 
and, in the second place, there is in addition a mutual interaction 
_ of all these elements, resulting in a much more complicated and 
confused pattern, the general outlines of which, however, follow 
the scheme above indicated. Nor does it follow that the other 
arts will show precisely the same pattern as we have traced in the 
case of music. Each art has certain special earmarks: for instance, 
the material objects involved in singing are reduced to a minimum 
(there are notes, but the “musical instrument” remains the human 
voice alone) ; in architecture the role of the material, the tools, 
the purpose of the buildings (temple, residence, palace, museum, 
etc.), is of immense importance; the student must not neglect such 


26H. Taine: Philosophie de l’art, Paris, 1909, vol. i, p. 55. 
27 [bid., p. 4. 


196 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


distinctions, but we shall always find that the following holds 
good: directly or indirectly, art is ultimately determined 1n various 
ways by the economic structure and the stage of the social tech- 
nology. 


At the early stages in its evolution, when human society had barely 
begun to turn out surplus products, art was in direct contact with 
practical material life. The earliest forms of art are the dance and 
music, and so much of poetry as was involved in the combination. 
The original aim of these arts was to produce a mood of unity, as a 
preparation for a certain act (a sort of practice or repetition of the 
act itself). Among certain “savage” tribes, the “council-dances”, the 
“terrifying war-dances”’, etc., accompanied by the clapping of hands, 
later also by primitive musical instruments, are examples of such 
dances. Rhythm developed together with work, as a principle of 
organization, as is excellently shown by Karl Biicher. The “chal- 
lenging” dance of the New Zealanders may be taken as an example; 
it is accompanied by terrible grimaces and the utterance of threats 
(in order to frighten the opponent); also, the dances and songs rep- 
resenting the chase, fishing, etc. A particularly important part is 
played by the so called work-song, constructed on the rhythm of the 
work performed, the text being developed from the sound involun- 
tarily ejaculated in the course of this work. The songs of the shep- 
herds, or of the Bedouins as they direct the steps of the camels on 
their travels through the desert, etc.—these are directly connected with 
the daily labor of the environment. As society grows, and new ideolo- 
gies arise, as “civilization”, etc., increases, art of course absorbs all 
these elements and ceases to be directly connected with the material 
life of production. For instance, as religion develops, music, the 
dance, etc., become a part of the cult. In Egypt, the ruling classes 
made a sort of mystery of music; the priests were scholars and musi- 
cians; religious music concerned them chiefly; the enslaved masses had 
their own music “at home, in the fields” (Kothe, ibid., p. 11). We 
find the same condition among the East Indians, whose musicians 
formed a privileged caste (special families of musicians and singers) : 
among the Assyro-Babylonians, whose conditions required them to 
wage war more frequently than other nations. Their music is prin- 
cipally military and military-religious in character (as suggested by 
the instruments: cymbals, kettle-drums, etc.). The earliest musical 
works of the Greeks, of which we know, were the work-songs of 
shepherds, and war songs (“songs of victory”); only later, songs of 
social and family type (laments on the dead, wedding-songs, etc.). 
Among the Romans, there were chiefly shepherd and peasant songs 
(their instrument was the reed, fistula) and war-songs (the loud 
brass instruments were first introduced by the Romans: the trumpet, 
tuba; curved horn, lituus; a sort of trombone, buccina, etc.). Simi- 
larly, the other forms of art also have their roots in practice. Primi- 
tive painting, ornament, has its origin in poetry; for example: the 
ornaments in many cases still suggest the earlier combination of pot 
and woven basket. Furthermore, the beginnings of painting simul- 
taneously serve as the beginnings of writing. The first step in the 
development of script were drawings set down to aid the memory. 
The Bushmen, as well as the East Indians, attempt to record certain 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 197 


visible objects on stone. The hieroglyphic inscriptions of the Egyp- 
tians, the Mexican symbols, are above all depictions of objects. 
Tattooing is closely connected with this practice. ‘The practice of 
writing of words and syllables developed from more primitive forms. 
The earliest stage was that of pictorial representations on the human 
body (tattooings), with the purpose not only of securing religious 
effects (warding off spirits, etc.), but also of making known the tribe, 
the rank, age, etc., of those marked in this manner” (R. Eisler: 
Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte, 3d ed., Leipzig, 1905, p. 42). Markings 
for the purpose of producing terror, and adornments, must also be 
considered here. Since such adornments had the purpose of causing 
admiration and producing an impression, they were used chiefly in 
warfare (cf. Lippert: Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte); they include, 
for instance, the “war-masks” of Germanic tribes, which were used in 
war, according to Tacitus (here is the germ of sculpture). Architec- 
ture is chiefly “technical” in character, as will be readily understood; 
originally it amounted merely to the construction of (materially) 
useful edifices. “The Greek temple and Gothic spire are both merely 
the permanent representations of useful wooden constructions” (John 
Ruskin: Lectures on Art, New York: Maynard, Merrill & Co., 1893, 
p. 42). “The lovely forms of these were first developed in civil and 
domestic building, and only after their invention, employed ecclesi- 
astically on the grandest scale” (ibid., p. 141). Of course, the direc? 
influence of production relations made itself particularly noticeable 
here; in Egypt, the firm construction of the houses with their re- 
ceding walls, was due to the overflowing of the Nile, as such walls 
were capable of offering more resistance to the rush of waters. Col- 
umns were used as props before the arch and vault were known. 
In order to show the dependence of form, and therefore of style, 
on the social environment, we shall offer a few examples in this field, 
taking our material chiefly from the interesting investigations of 
Wilhelm Hausenstein. In the primitive reproductive arts, we may 
discern two periods: a purely naturalistic period (representing things 
as they were) on the one hand, and a conventionalized ornamentation 
and symbolic drawings, with little resemblance to reality, on the other 
hand. In the former case, we have drawings of bisons, horses, mam- 
moths, reindeer, scenes of the chase, etc., found on the walls of caves, 
or drawn on the bones of horses, the teeth of mammoths, or reindeer 
antlers, etc. In the second period, we have chiefly conventionalized 
idols and human and animal figures. Max Verworn explains this 
circumstance as follows: “The palaeolithic hunter of the earlier 
period did not yet possess, as far as we know, the notion of the soul. 
. . . He looked for nothing behind things (1.e., was not yet an animist, 
N.B.). He had no metaphysics; he concerned himself only with what 
he perceived, fully resembling the Bushman in this respect.” On the 
other hand, “all tribes among whom the conception of the soul and 
other religious conceptions have gained a control over life, as among 
negroes, American Indians, South Sea Islanders, we find extremely 
ideoplastic (i.e., symbolic, not ‘naturalistic’, or in Verworn’s words, 
‘physioplastic’, N. B.) art.” (Max Verworn: Zur Psychologie der 
primitiven Kunst, Naturwissenschaftliche Wochenschrift, New Series, 
vol. vi, Jena, 1907; also quoted by Hausenstein, ibid., p. 38). Hausen- 
stein observes that Verworn does not pursue the thought to its con- 
clusion; Hausenstein finds the nucleus of the matter in the fact that 


198 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


the hunter is more an individualist, the peasant more of a collectivist. 
But the fact of the matter is that “ideoplastic art”, like religion, grows 
with the growth of particular conditions of production, namely, the 
relation of domination and subjection. In the feudal era, this relation 
attains huge dimensions in production and politics; the gulf between 
the slave and the despot may indicate the extent of this relation. This 
condition determines the specific style of all feudal eras, as brilliantly 
analyzed by Hausenstein. The power and domination of the divine 
despots, of mighty feudal kings, of Pharaohs, their unattainable 
sublimity, valor, audacity, etc., as opposed to common mortals—this 
is the essential point expressed in the feudal styles of the Egyptians, 
Assyro-Babylonians, of the earliest Greeks, Chinese, Japanese, Mex- 
icans, Peruvians, East Indians, as well as in the Romanesque and early 
Gothic art of Western Europe (Hausenstein: Versuch einer Soat- 
ologie der bildendéen Kunst, in Archiv fiir Sozialwissenschaft und 
Sozialpolitik, May, 1913, pp. 778, 779). Literary examples from the 
epochs mentioned will support this statement. From the legal code 
of the Babylonian king Hammurabi, whom we have mentioned before, 
we take the words: “I am Hammurabi, the incomparable king. With 
the mighty weapon given me by Zamama and Innanna, with the wis- 
dom given me by Ea, with the reason bestowed upon me by Marduk, 
I have destroyed the enemies to the North (above) and to the South 
(below), have terminated dissension, have bestowed prosperity upon 
the laud. ... The great gods called me....I am the beneficent 
shepherd. ...I am Hammurabi, the King of Truth, upon whom 
Shamash bestowed the quality of justice. My words are good, my 
deeds incomparable, sublime. ... They are a pattern for the wise, 
to attain fame” (quoted from Turayev, ibid., pp. 114, 115). The 
following eulogy of a king is found on an Egyptian tomb: ‘Praise 
the king in your bodies, bear him in your hearts. He is the god of 
universal wisdom living in hearts. . . . He is the radiant sun illuminat- 
ing both the earths more than the disk of the sun; he makes more 
things green than the great Nile; he fills both the earths with power, 
he is breath-giving life. ... The king is sustenance. Multiplication 
is his lips, he is the begetter of what is, he is Hnum, original Father 
of man. ... Battle for his name,” etc. (ibid., p. 325). Meanwhile, “in 
good society”, the lower stations were despised. An Egyptian father, 
giving paternal advice to his son, wants the latter to become a court 
scribe, and speaks of the lower trades as follows: ‘I have never seen 
a smith serve as an envoy, or a jeweler as an ambassador; but I have 
seen a smith working at his forge; his fingers were like the hide of 
a crocodile; he spread an odor worse than rotten fish-roe. ... The 
peasant wears an eternal garment (1.e., never changes it, NV. B.). His 
health may be compared with that of a man lying under a lion... . 
The weaver in his workshop is weaker than woman; his feet lie against 
his stomach; he has nowhere to breathe. If he does not complete his 
daily task, he is beaten like lotus on a swamp,” etc. (ibid., p. 231). 
The Egyptian king Yakhmos says of himself: “The Asians approach 
full of fear and are judged by him; his sword enters into Nubia, the 
fear of him into the land Fenekha; the fear of his splendor is like 
that of the God Min,” (ibid., p. 272). Fritz Burger thus charac- 
terizes the ancient Egyptian, 1.e., feudal, art (Weltanschauungsprob- 
leme und Lebenssysteme in der Kunst der Vergangenheit, pp. 43, 44): 
“Egyptian art is an embodiment of the notion of immortality, not as 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 199 


a mere symbol, however, but as a reality (the ‘eternal’ pyramids, of 
unusual permanence, statues, etc., V. B.).... A powerful suggestion 
of force emanates from them; they make us bend the knee; they have 
the awe-inspiring quality of a higher existence incorporated within 
them; they bear witness to the disciplined strength of life in its dread- 
ful tension, to a super-personal, eternal power, whose pride keeps 
us at a distance, to the soulless severity of a being that is indifferent 
to all mere matters of detail; they reflect the brilliancy of their mas- 
ter’s light, as remote as the stars.” Therefore: “Every feudal civi- 
lization carries on a worship of quantity” (Hausenstein: Die Kunst 
und die Gesellschaft, p. 46). The huge pyramids, the gigantic monu- 
ments of the Pharaohs or the Assyrian-Babylonian kings, are a form 
of greatness and might; art is monumental and frontal; the “interior 
decoration” of the present-day bourgeoisie would not have sufficed 
for feudal conditions; the bearing of the figures of rulers is pre- 
scribed exactly: upright stature, not human, but half divine, as op- 
posed to the slaves and ordinary mortals (the ancient Greeks desig- 
nated the bearing of a slave, etc., by the word proskynesis, 1.e., “dog- 
like creeping”). One of the best specialists on Egypt, Ehrmann, main- 
tains that the human body is represented in a number of different 
forms in Egyptian painting, according to the social rank: it is natural 
for ordinary mortals, conventionalized for superiors; virile power is 
represented by a wide chest, not foreshortened as perspective would 
require; among the Egyptians, the chest is always given its full width, 
even if the figure stands in profile. The same spirit also prevailed 
in archaic, feudal, early Greek art (the heroic “energetic power of 
early Attic art”, “the severe energy of the Dorians”, the so called 
“Doric style’; (cf. B. Haendcke: Entwicklungsgeschichte der 
Stilarten, Bielefeld-Leipzig, 1913, p. 10). Approximately the same 
condition is found among the East Indians, Peruvians, Mexicans, Chi- 
nese and Japanese. “When the Mexican Aztec succumbed to the 
Conquistadors under Hernando Cortez, the style of this kingdom was 
almost identical both socially and zsthetically with the style of the 
feudal despotism,” (Hausenstein, tbid., p. 77). In literature we find 
in addition to the eulogies of kings, in inscriptions and elsewhere, 
also heroic warlike epics, and the heroic-knightly drama; among the 
Greeks, the Iliad and the Odyssey; among the Japanese, the knightly 
drama, glorifying the fidelity of the Samurai, who were the feudal 
masters; among the Incas, likewise the heroic drama, etc. A divine 
sublimity, a crude strength, both inaccessible to ordinary mortals, 
are expressed also in medieval European art, particularly in the archi- 
tecture of the cathedrals, built in the course of many years by great 
numbers of unknown persons; later, in the bourgeois epoch, these 
gloomy and solemn structures began to be designated as “‘citadels of 
the spirit’. 

The transition from the feudal style to the bourgeois styles begins 
everywhere with the growth of trade, of commercial capital, or trade- 
capitalist relations, in the Athens of the Fifth Century, in the Italian 
commercial city republics of the Renaissance, later in the commercial 
cities of all Europe. The process was finally completed with the 
definite collapse of feudalism, 7.e., with the victory of the French revo- 
lution (1789-1793). In the place of the masses, held down by the 
feudal system, by the scale of hierarchic relations, we have the bour- 
geois individual with his commercial calculations, his thoughts of profit, 


200 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


“a man and'a citizen”. In music the situation is as follows: “Up 
to the Sixteenth Century, the community principle prevailed (ze., 
in the sense of feudal restrictions, serfdom, but after all a form of 
organization, V. B.); the individual was relegated entirely to the back- 
ground. He was absorbed in the family, the community, the Church, 
the guild or brotherhood, the state. Accordingly, choral music was 
the prevalent form of the times. But now the individual also wished 
to make himself felt (1.e., the energetic, vigorous bourgeois individ- 
ual, then still ‘““young”’, eager for knowledge, capable of practical cal- 
culations, NV. B.), and therefore we find individual singing and... 
the musical drama growing up by the side of the chorus” (Kothe, 
ibid., p. 159). The new musical style (stile rappresentativo, 1.e., the 
style of theatrical performances, of opera, of drama), practically con- 
stituted a transition to recitative, t.e., half singing, half conversation; 
melody, rhythm, ete.; all were subordinated to a faithful representa- 
tion of the words of the text. (“It is extremely interesting to note 
the concomitants of the circumstance that this new musical style arose 
simultaneously in three quarters,” writes Kothe, ibid., p. 161, “so that 
it is difficult to determine the real ‘inventor’.” The reader should 
recall, in this connection, Bordeaux’ remark concerning the similar 
condition in science, already mentioned in our discussion of that 
“superstructure” ). The trained merchant replaced the royal-feudal re- 
ligious banner with a desire for the earthly, for the individual human. 
Leonardo da Vinci, one of the greatest artists of all times and peoples, 
and one of the most significant of all humans, magnificently expressed 
the new tendency of thought in many fields: as a philosopher, in- 
ventor, natural scientist, mathematician, an incomparable artist, .and 
even as a poet. “Leonardo renounces all mysticism. He reduces the 
fact of human life to the law of circulation, well known and well drawn 
by him. With cold cynicism, he analyzes the structural laws of the 
world of human forms, and with an intellectual brutality that is above 
all sentimentality, he graphically depicts the sexual act.... He ap- 
proaches the problem of light by the path of knowledge; the influence 
of light and atmosphere on form becomes the problem of experimental 
optics. The rhythm of graphic composition is for him a geometrical 
secret; the wonderful panel with Saint Anna, the Madonna, the Jesus 
child, and the Lamb, is doubtless the outcome of very exhaustive 
mathematical combinations, of painful thought concerning the theory 
of curves” (Hausenstein, ibid., pp. 100-102). Realism, rationalism, 
individualism, these are the “-isms” of the Renaissance. In poetry, 
the path of transition from the Medieval-Gothic style to the new style 
is successively marked by Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, etc. The 
“content” of this art is a criticism of feudal churchdom, a rejection 
of the feudal style in favor of an elegant style of the world, realistic, 
but also personal, individual. The connection with the social life is 
here clearly evident. 

Unfortunately we cannot dwell on all the art forms, for instance, 
on the Baroque, on which, by the way, we have an excellent Marxian 
work by Hausenstein, Vom Geist des Barock (Miinchen, 1920). We 
shall proceed at once to the modern period. Just before the French 
Revolution, the so called Rococo style prevailed, the social basis of 
which was the rule of the feudal aristocracy and the financial oligarchy 
(haute finance), parvenus who bought ducal and princely titles and 
adopted aristocratic manners. Positions of tax-farmers were sold, 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 201 


manipulations and dubious financial operations were carried on on the 
stock exchange; commercial and colonial policy, domination by the 
nobility, which needed money and sold its titles, rich burghers who 
bought these titles (also purchasing the young scions of the nobility 
as husbands for their daughters), etc., such was the environment “up 
above”. This environment determined the manners peculiar to this 
“gallant period”. Life was dominated by love, not as a powerful pas- 
sion, but in the form of philandering, which had become the trade of 
elegant idlers. The ideal type was that of the specialists in deflower- 
ing virgins (the déverginateur) ; the frivolous doctrine of the “proper 
moment” for this operation constituted practically the spiritual axis 
of the age. Rococo art, with its delicate and absolutely erotic curves, 
is a perfect reflection of these traits in the social psychology (cf. 
Hausenstein: Rokoko; Franzésische und deutsche Illustratoren des 
XVIII. Jahrhunderts, Miinchen, 1918). With the growth of the bour- 
geoisie, with their battle and victory, a new style was brought forth, 
the best representative of which is, in French painting, David. This 
style was the embodiment of the bourgeois virtues of the revolutionary 
bourgeoisie: the ancient “simplicity” of its forms expressed its “con- 
tent”, concerning which Diderot wrote that art must have the purpose 
of glorifying great and fine deeds, of honoring unhappy and defamed 
virtue, of branding flagrant vice and of inspiring tyrants with fear. 
Diderot also advised dramatists “to get close to real life’; he himself 
blazed the trail in literature for the so called “bourgeois drama” (cf. 
Fr. Muckle: Das Kulturproblem der franzésischen Revolution, vol. i, 
Jena, 1921, pp. 177 et. seq.) ; which was called le genre honnéte (Beau- 
marchais’ Le Mariage de Figaro may be taken as a specimen). The 
social roots of this genre honnéte are perfectly manifest. If, after 
having viewed a painting by Watteau, of the Rococo School, we return 
to our room and open J. J. Rousseau’s Nouvelle Héloise, we shall find 
we have entered a different sphere (George Brandes: Main Currents 
of the Nineteenth Century Literature, New York, vol. i, p. 17). This 
changed artistic sphere corresponds closely with the changed social 
sphere; the burgher has become the hero in the place of the enervated 
parlor butterflies of the aristocracy, and he begins to create his genre 
honnéte. 

For purposes of contrast, it would be very interesting to consider 
the art of the dying bourgeoisie. This art has been expressed with 
particular sharpness in Germany, where, by reason of the military 
collapse and the Peace of Versailles, on the one hand, and the constant 
menace of a proletarian uprising on the other hand, the general basic 
note in the life of the bourgeoisie has become particularly gloomy; 
where the capitalist mechanism is deteriorating most rapidly, and 
where, therefore, the process of “unclassing”, of transforming bour- 
geois intellectuals into human “riff-raff”, is rapidly proceeding, into 
individuals thrown from their course by the pressure of great events. 
This condition of hopelessness is expressed in a strengthening of in- 
dividualism and mysticism. There is a convulsive grasping for a 

“new style”, for new forms of generalization, without any possibility 
of finding them; each day brings some new ‘“-ism”, which does not 
hold the eround for long. Impressionism is followed by Neo-Im- 
pressionism, then by Expressionism, etc. A vast number of tendencies 
and experiments, an accumulation of paper theories, but no reasonably 
solid synthesis. This may be observed in painting as well as in music, 


202 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


poetry, sculpture, in short, all along the line. Bourgeois reactionaries, 
timidly recording the gradual disintegration of their culture, of their 
class, formulate this process in some such way as this: a faith in the 
mysterious is developing; a belief in witchcraft and miracle-workers, 
in spiritualism and theosophy. “The head of a group of so called 
occult devotees writes book after book and delivers lecture after lec- 
ture... . Diligent spiritualists, Christian Scientists, or theosophists, 
have a lot to say, but are neither moved by the alleged revelations, 
nor moving by their communication” (Max Dessoir: Die neue Mystik 
und die neue Kunst, in Die Kunst der Gegenwart, Leipzig, 1920, p. 
130). “Our latest artists also maintain that what they create is the 
expression of the contents of visions (my italics, N. B.), and that 
each art work consists of ‘ecstatic gestures’ of the soul” (p. 132). 
We are asked to consider this as an expression of magic idealism; 
“in poetry, sacrificing the sentence to the word, or even Dadaism (the 
derivation of this name from ‘da-da’, the earliest sound produced by 
infants, is illustrative of the childish attitude characteristic of this 
tendency, NV. B.); in painting and sculpture, a crude childish trifling. 
. .. Christian Scientists, astrologers and their ilk, distort the admitted 
fact that wisdom is not exhausted by the logic of syllogisms, into a 
laudation of prenatal negro metaphysics” (zbid., pp. 133, 134). Little 
closed groups, cliques, leagues, are promulgated, within which the 
artists surrender themselves to a mysterious contemplation of the 
hereafter and the joys of this wondrous creation. Together with 
this tendency, we find an inclination toward “emotional communism”, 
an indication of the profound fall of the bourgeoisie as a class. Mys- 
ticism is therefore triumphant. Jules Romains (Manuel de déification, 
quoted by Dessoir, ibid., p. 137), requires. “a state of mystical rapture 
as a condition for the conquest of the world by art”, and Dessoir, hav- 
ing become sufficiently tired of this image, expresses the single 
hope that this unhealthy mysticism may in some way be healed by a 
return to the path of faith in the God of earlier days! (p. 138). An 
expressionist theorist, Theodor Daubler (Der neue Standpunkt, Leip- 
zig, 1919, p. 180), excellently expresses this essentially and profoundly 
individualist point of view of the disintegrated social atoms: ‘“The 
center of the world is in every ego, even in the ego-justified work.” 
Of course, this point of view leads to mysticism. “We hear every- 
where pronounced the cry: ‘Away from nature!’ It is obvious what 
this means, as far as expressionist poetry and graphic art are con- 
cerned: a departure from what is supplied us by the senses, a trans- 
cending of the limits of sensuous experience, a tendency to elevate 
oneself to that which lies behind phenomena” (ibid., p. 142). In 
music we are led to super-music, to anti-music, without harmony, with- 
out rhythm, without melody, etc. (Arnold Schering: Die expres- 
sionistishe Bewegung in der Musik, in the work already quoted, Ein- 
fiihrung in die Kunst der Gegenwart, pp. 142 et seg.). A general 
social evaluation of all this business from the point of view of capi- 
talist culture is given by Max Martersteig (Das jiingste Deutschland 
in Literatur und Kunst, ibid., p. 25): “The states of rapture produced 
by the suffering of monstrous things must yield place to reason. No 
variety of war psychosis or disarmament psychosis may any longer 
serve as an excuse for fragmentary and anarchic work.” The author 
invokes a spirit of “highest responsibility”, but his invocations will be 
of no avail, for it is impossible to find a new sublime synthesis in the 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 203 


decaying temple of capitalism; débris and ruins, an incoherent mys- 
tical babbling and the “ecstasies” of theosophical sects, will now be 
inevitable. Such always has been the case in civilizations destined 
to early extinction. 

We shall also say a few words on fashions,-which have already been 
touched upon. In certain respects, fashions are related to art (in 
“style”: e.g., the garments and costumes of the Rococo period cor- 
responded perfectly with the Rococo art). In other traits, fashion 
is connected with standards of conduct, with the rules of decency, cus- 
toms, etc. Fashions therefore also develop in accordance with the 
social psychology, the succession of its forms, the rate of change, 
depending in turn on the character of this social development. Here, 
‘ for instance, we find the roots of the inordinately swift changes of 
fashions at the end of the capitalist period. “Our inner rhythmics 
(corresponding to the headlong course of life, N. B.) require shorter 
and shorter periods for each new impression” (Georg Simmel: Die 
Mode, Leipzig, 1918, p. 35). Wherein lies the social significance of 
fashions? What is their role in the current of social life? Here is 
Simmel’s brilliant answer: “They are... a product of the division 
along class lines, the case being similar to that of a number of other 
social formations, particularly with honor, having the double function 
of holding a group together and at the same time keeping it separate 
from other groups. ... Thus, fashions on the one hand express 
one’s connection with those of equal rank, the unity of the circle de- 
fined by these fashions, and simultaneously the exclusiveness of this 
SOON opposed to those further down in the scale” (1bid., pp. 
28, 29). 


Language and thought, the most abstract ideological categories 
of the superstructure, are also functions of social evolution. It 
has sometimes been fashionable among Marxists or pseudo- 
Marxists to declare that the origin of these phenomena has no 
relation with historical materialism. Kautsky, for example, went 
so far as to claim that the powers of human thought are almost 
unchanging. Such is not the case, however; these ideological 
forms, so extraordinarily important in the life of society, con- 
stitute no exception to the other ideological forms of the super- 
structure in their own origin and evolution. 

A preliminary question must first be disposed of: namely, the 
doubt that at once appears in a discussion of language and thought. 
It is customary to admit that language is a social relation, a tool 
in the intercourse between men, an instrument of cohesion; and 
that Marx is right when he states that it would be absurd to speak 
of an evolution of language if men did not speak to each other. 
But the case with thought seems different, for each individual 
thinks, has his own brain, and only a mystic could attempt to seek 
the roots of this individual human thought in society. This objec- 
tion is based on an incomplete understanding of the close relation 


204 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


between thought and language. Thought always operates with 
the aid of words, even when the latter are not spoken; thought 
is speech minus sound. The process of thinking is a process of 
combining concepts, which are always dealt with in the form of 
word symbols. A person who has made excellent progress in a 
foreign language may begin to think in that language. In fact, 
it is easy to find illustrations, in the reader’s own experience, of 
the fact that the process of thought, of rumination, is accomplished 
with the aid of words. This being the case, and if we admit that 
speech is associated with society in its origin as well as in its 
growth, it results logically that the same must be true of thought. 
And the facts show that the evolution of thought has coincided 
with that of language. One of the most distinguished philologists, 
Ludwig Noiré, says: “The social activity directed toward a com- 
mon goal, the most ancient labor of the elders of the clan, is the 
source from which language and reasoning originated.” 28 Human 
speech is as much an outgrowth of the sounds ejaculated during 
labor as are music and song. Philology has shown that the orig- 
inal basis of the vocabulary is the so called action roots, the earliest 
words being such as designated chiefly an action (verbs). In the 
later growth of language, objects also received their designations 
(nouns), insofar as these objects were prominent in the labor 
experience of man; such names were given chiefly to the tools 
used, and were developed from the verbal terms for the actions 
involved. Parallel with this evolution proceeded the consolidation 
of more definite concepts out of the mass of material which— 
figuratively speaking—filled man’s head, echoed in his ears, ap- 
peared before his eyes, etc. But the concept is the beginning of 
thought. 

The further evolution of thought and language proceeds along 
the lines followed by the other forms of the ideological super- 
structure; namely, they follow the evolution of the productive 
forces. In the course of this evolution, the external world ceases 
to be a world per se, becomes man’s world; ceases to be mere 
matter, becomes material for human action; instruments of mate- 
rial labor, coarse at first, later more and more delicate, as well as 
instruments of scientific knowledge, together with the countless 
“feelers” such as machines, telescopes, acute reasoning, aid society 
in its annexation of more and more of this external world to 
society’s sphere of labor and knowledge. A vast number of new 


28 Ursprung der Sprache, Mainz, 1877, p. 331. The italics are ours. N. B. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 205 


concepts, and consequently of new words, is the result; language 
is enriched and is made to include the totality of subjects that con- 
stitute the concern of human thought and speech, 1.e., of human 
communication. ; 

The “fullness of life” results in the “richness” of language. 
Some shepherd tribes (“pure cattle breeders’) have no subject of 
conversation but their cattle, owing to the fact that the low level 
of their productive forces restricts their entire life to the sphere 

of production, and their language therefore remains directly con- 
' nected with the process of production. If, as a result of enhanced 
productive forces, a huge and complicated ideological superstruc- 
ture has been erected, language will of course embrace this super- 
structure also, 7.e., the connection of language with the process of 
production is more and more indirect; the dependence of language 
on the technique of production is now an indirect dependence; the 
causal chain now runs through the dependence of the various 
superstructural forms on the process of production, and even the 
latter dependence may no longer be a direct one. The increased 
number of words borrowed from foreign languages is a good 
example of the manner in which language grows. Such borrow- 
ings result from an economy of universal dimensions and the 
development of a number of practically identical things in many 
countries, or of events having universal significance (telephone, 
aeroplane, radio, Bolshevism, Conuntern, Soviet, etc.). It would 
lead us too far afield to point out in detail that the character, the 
style of a language also changes with the conditions of the social 
life; but it is worth while to mention that the division of society 
into classes, groups, and occupations also impresses its mark on 
language; the city-dweller has not the same language as the vil- 
lager; the “literary language” is different from “common” speech. 
This difference may become so great as to prevent men from under- 
standing each other ; in many countries there are popular “dialects” 
that can hardly be understood by the cultured and wealthy classes; 
this is a striking example of the class cleavage in language. And 
the various occupations have their special languages; learned 
philosophers, accustomed to dwell in a world of subtle distinctions, 
write—and sometimes even speak—a language that only their 
fellows can understand. The desire to indulge in such forms of 
expression is partly due to the same cause that produces fashions 
in dress; namely, to distinguish these persons from “everyday 
mortals”. Thus, a Russian noble landowner would show his 


206 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


“class” by bringing back with him from Paris, clothes of foreign 
design, an expensive mistress, and an accentuated pronunciation 
of the letter r. Wundt shows that the peculiar intonation of the 
Puritans also had this social character; they not only took the 
names of patriarchs and prophets, but even imitated in their 
speech the chanting tones in which the Bible is still read aloud 
in the Jewish synagogues. Wundt rightly observes that the 
philologist cannot afford to consider language as a phenomenon 
that is isolated from human society; on the contrary, our conjec- 
tures as to the evolution of linguistic forms must accord with our 
view of the origin and evolution of man in general, the growth 
of the forms of social life, the origin of customs and law. 
Thought has not always followed the same lines. Certain re- 
spectable scholars find that science originates in man’s mysterious 
and universal inclination toward causal explanations, but they do 
not consider the question of the cause of this extremely laudable 
tendency. But we may now consider the mutability of the types 
of thought to have been definitely established. Thus, Lévy-Brithl 
devotes a whole book ?° to the mode of thought of savages, which 
he considers entirely different from the present “logical” thought, 
terming it pre-logical. In savage thought, details and specific 
things are often not distinguished from the general or even the 
whole; one thing is confused with another. The entire world 
is not a system of things, but a system of mobile forces, man 
being one of these; individual man is not a personality: person- 
ality is absolutely socialized, being absorbed in society and not 
distinct from the latter. The “fundamental law” of savage 
thought is not the concept of causal succession, but what Lévy- 
Brithl terms the law of “participation” (loi de la participation), 
if it is possible to exert an influence on any object under condi- 
tions which—from our point of view—preclude such a possibility. 
“The law of participation permits him to shift from the indi- 
vidual to the group and from the group to the individual without 
the slightest difficulty. Between a bison and bisons in general, 
between a bear and bears in general, between a reindeer and rein- 
deers in general, this psychology accepts a mystical participation.*° 


29 Tes fonctions mentales dans les sociétés inférieures, Paris, 1910. We . 
are quoting chiefly from Professor A. Pogodin’s Russian work; Border- 
Regions between the Animal and Human, in New Ideas in Sociology, 
Collectiori No. 4. 

vi Pogodin correctly points out that “mystical” is hardly the proper 
word. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 207 


This psychology has no place for the species as an aggregate, or 
for the individual existence of its members, in our sense of these 
words.” Lévy-Brthl himself finds a connection between this type 
of thought and a certain type of social existence, in which per- 
sonality had not yet been differentiated from society, 1.e., he con- 
nects this stage of thought with primitive communism. 

Causality, as found among savages, is not our causality, but an 
animistic causality, the result of the inclination of the savage to 
_seek a spiritual, divine, or demonic principle operative in all situ- 
ations. All things that come to pass have been “ordained” by 
someone: cause seems identical with a command emanating from 
a superior spirit. The law of causal succession becomes the whim 
of the Supreme Being, the spiritual ruler (or rulers) of the uni- 
verse. Therefore, while the tendency to seek causes seems to be 
present in man, savage man seeks causes of a specific kind, causes 
emanating from a certain higher power. Of course, this type 
of thought is also related with a certain social order. It is typical 
for a society that already shows the presence of a hierarchy tn 
production and social polity. 

The further course of development presents the same process; 
it has already been touched upon in our discussion of philosophy. 
The above examples suffice to show that thought and the forms of 
thought are a varying quantity, and that this variability 1s based on 
the variability in the evolution of society, its organization of labor, 
and its technical backbone. 

An excellent recapitulation of this subject is the magnificent 
formulation made by Karl Marx in his A Contribution to a 
Critique of Political Economy: 

“In the social production of their lives, men enter into specific, 
necessary relations, independent of their wills, production relations, 
which correspond to a certain specific stage in the evolution of 
their material productive forces. The totality of these production 
relations constitutes the economic structure of society, the real 
basis, over which there rises a legal and political superstructure, 
and to which there correspond specific social forms of conscious- 
ness. The mode of production of material life conditions the so- 
cial, political, and mental life-process in general. It is not the 
consciousness of men that determines their being, but, on the con- 
trary, their social being determines their consciousness” (Zur 
Kritik der politischen Okonomie, Stuttgart 1915, p. lv.). 

The huge “superstructure” that rises over the economic basis of 


208 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


society is of rather intricate internal “structure”. It includes 
material things (tools, instruments, etc.), the most various human 
organizations, furthermore, strictly coordinated systems of ideas 
and forms; furthermore, vague, non-coordinated thoughts and 
feelings; finally, an ideology “of the second degree”, sciences of 
sciences, sciences of arts, etc. We are therefore obliged, in a 
precise analysis, to resort to a certain definition of terms. 

We shall interpret the word “superstructure” as meaning any 
type of social phenomenon erected on the economic basis: this 
will include, for instance, social psychology, the social-political 
order, with all its material parts (for example, cannons), the or- 
ganization of persons (official hierarchy), as well as such phe- 
nomena as language and thought. The conception of the super- 
structure is therefore the widest possible conception. 

The term “social ideology’ will mean for us the system of 
thoughts, feelings, or rules of conduct (norms), and will there- 
fore include such phenomena as the content of science (not a tele- 
scope, or the personal staff of a chemical laboratory) and art, 
the totality of norms, customs, morals, etc. 

Social psychology will mean for us the non-systematized or but 
little systematized feelings, thoughts and moods found in the 
given society, class, group, profession, etc. 


e. Social Psychology and Social Ideology 


In our treatment of science and art, law and morality, etc., we 
were dealing with certain unified systems of forms, thoughts, 
rules of conduct, etc. Science is a unified, coordinated system 
of thoughts, embracing any subject of knowledge in its harmony. 
Art is a system of feelings, sensations, forms. Morality is a 
more or less rigid coordination of rules of conduct giving inner 
satisfaction to the individual. Many other ideologies may be simi- 
larly defined. But social life also includes a great mass of inco- 
herent, non-coordinated material, by no means presenting an ap- 
pearance of harmony, for instance, “ordinary, everyday thought” 
on any subject, as distinguished from “scientific thought”. The 
former is based on fragments of knowledge, on disorderly, scat- 
tered thoughts; it is a mass of contradictions, or incompletely 
digested notions, freakish conceptions. Only when this material 
has been subjected to the sharp test of criticism, and stripped of 
its contradictions, do we begin to approach science. But, alas, 


gS ee 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 209 


we live in “every-day” life! Among the countless mutual inter- 
actions between men, out of which social life is built up, there are 
many such non-coordinated elements: shreds of ideas (yet ex- 
pressing a certain knowledge), feelings and wishes, tastes, modes 
of thought, undigested, “semi-conscious”, “vague conceptions of 
God” and “evil”, “just” and “unjust”, “beautiful” and “ugly”, 
habits and views of daily life; impressions and conceptions as to 
the course of social life; feelings of pleasure or pain, dissatisfac- 
tion and anger, love of conflict or boundless despair, many vague 
expectations and ideals; a sharp critical attitude toward the ex- 
isting order of things, or a delighted acceptance of this “best of 
all worlds”; a sense of failure and disappointment, cares as to 
the future, a bold burning one’s bridges behind one, illusions, hopes 
of the future, etc., etc., ad infinitum. ‘These phenomena, when 
of social dimensions, are the social psychology. The difference 
between the social (or “collective”) psychology and ideology is 
merely in their degree of systematization. The social psychology 
has often been apparent in bourgeois society in the mysterious 
envelope of the so called “popular spirit” or Zeitgeist, frequently 
conceived as a peculiar single social soul, in the literal sense of the 
word. But, of course, a folk-soul, in this sense, does not exist, 
any more than there can exist a society which is an organism with 
a single center of consciousness. Society then becomes a huge 
monster lying in the midst of nature! | 

In the absence of such an organism, we can hardly speak of 
a mysterious folk-soul or a “popular spirit’, in this mystical 
sense. Yet we do speak of the social psychology, to distinguish it 
from the individual psychology. This apparent contradiction may 
be answered as follows: the mutual interaction between men pro- 
duces a certain psychology in the individual. The “social” ele- 
ment exists not between men but in the brains of men; the con- 
tents of these brains are a product of the various conflicting in- 
fluences, the various intersecting interactions. No mental life 
exists except that which is found in the individual “socialized” 
human being, who is subject to all such interactions; society is an 
aggregate of socialized humans and not a huge beast of whom 
the individual humans are the various organs. 


G. Simmel excellently describes this: “When a crowd of people 
destroy a house, pronounce a judgment, utter a cry, we here have a 
summation of the actions of the individual persons, constituting a 
single event recognized as a realization of a single conception. A 


210 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


frequent confusion takes place here: the single physical result of many 
subjective mental processes is interpreted as the result of a single 
mental process, namely, a process in the collective soul” (G. Simmel: 
Soziologie; Untersuchungen iiber die Formen der Vergesellschaftung, 
Leipzig, 1908, pp. 559, 560). Or—to use another example—when 
some new and greater thing than their individual aspirations or actions 
arises from the mutual interaction of men, “when examined closely 

. we find that such cases also involve the conduct of individuals, 
who are influenced by the fact that each is surrounded by other indi- 
viduals; this results in nervous, intellectual, suggestive, moral trans- 
formations of man’s mental constitution as compared with its opera- 
tion with regard to different situations, in which such influences are 
absent. If these influences, mutually interacting, produce an internal 
modification in all the members of the group, in a like direction, their 
total action will no doubt have a different aspect from that of each 
individual, if each had been placed in a different, isolated situation” 
(ibid., p. 560). 


Yet such words as Zeitgeist, popular mood, etc., are not with- 
out meaning: they indicate the existence of two conditions that 
may be noted everywhere: they indicate the real existence, first, 
of a certain predominant current of thoughts, feelings, moods, 
a prevailing psychology, at any given time, giving color to the 
entire social life; second, the alteration of this prevailing psy- 
chology according to the “character of the epoch”, 7.e., according 
to the conditions of social evolution. 

The prevailing social psychology involves two principal ele- 
ments: first, general psychological traits, perhaps found in all 
classes of society, for the situations of the various classes may 
have certain common elements in spite of class differences; sec- 
ond, the psychology of the ruling class, which enjoys such promi- 
nence in society as to set the pace for the entire social life and 
subject the other classes to its influence. The former case is 
illustrated in the feudal eras, in which the feudal lord and the 


peasant present certain common psychological traits: love of tra-_ 


ditional practices, routine, submission to authority, fear of God, 
generally backward ideas, suspicion of innovation, etc. This re- 
sults from the fact that both classes live in a stagnant and almost 
inert society ; the more mobile psychology is later developed in the 
cities. Another cause of this condition is the unlimited author- 
ity enjoyed by the feudal lord on his estate and by the peasant in 
his family. The family then was an organized labor unit; in 
fact, the labor bond remains an important element in the peasant 
family to this day. The authority of the feudal lord is there- 
fore found paralleled in the patriarchal order of labor relations in 


Re a a en 





EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 211 


the family, as expressed in the complete submission to the “head 
of the family”: “the old man knows!” At a certain stage of 
social evolution, the Zeitgeist was a conservatism of feudal nobil- 
ity and peasant serf. In addition, of course, the prevailing social 
psychology also presents factors characteristic of the feudal lords 
alone, which were disseminated only by virtue of the dominant 
position of the feudal nobility. 

Much oftener, however, we encounter cases in which the social 
psychology, i.e., the prevailing social psychology, is that of the 
ruling class. In the second chapter of the Communist Manifesto, 
Marx says: “The prevailing ideas of a period have always been 
simply the ideas of the ruling class.” The same might be said of 
the social psychology prevalent at a given time. Our discussion 
of ideologies has already shown a number of examples of feelings, 
thoughts, moods, predominant in society. Let us examine a spe- 
cific case: the psychology of the Renaissance, with its highly de- 
veloped pursuit of pleasure, its parading of Latin and Greek 
words, its ingenious erudition, its love of distinguishing one’s own 
ego from the “mob”, its elegant contempt for medieval super- 
stition, etc. ; this psychology obviously has nothing in common with 
that of the Italian peasantry of the same epoch, but was a product 
of the commercial cities, and of the financial cities, of the financial- 
commercial aristocracy in those cities. At precisely this period, 
the city began to control the provinces; the cities were ruled by 
bankers, who married into the families of the prominent nobility. 
The psychology of this class was the ruling psychology; it is ex- 
pressed in many monuments—literary and other monuments— 
of the epoch. The development of the productive forces among 
the ruling class causes mighty levers to be fashioned for molding 
the psychology of the other classes. “The three or four metro- 
politan sheets will, in our future, determine the opinion of the pro- 
vincial papers and therefore the popular will,’ is the frank state- 
ment of Oswald Spengler,*t the philosopher of the German 
bourgeoisie of the present day. 

Yet, it is obvious that no permanent, uniform, integral “social 
psychology” may exist in a class society; at most there are certain 
common traits, whose importance should not be exaggerated. 


9966 


The same applies to so called “national characteristics”, “race psy- 
chology”, etc. It goes without saying that Marxists do not “in prin- 


81 Op. cit., p. 49. 


212 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


ciple’ deny the possibility of certain common traits in all the classes 
of one and the same nation. In one passage, for instance, Marx even 
allows for a certain influence of race, in the following words: “The 
same economic basis—the same in its principal conditions—may pre- 
sent infinite variations and gradations in their manifestation, owing 
to countless different empirical circumstances, natural conditions, racial 
relations, historical influences working from without, etc., which can- 
not be understood without analyzing these empirically given circum- 
stances” (Marx: Capital, vol. iii). In other words, if any two societies 
are passing through the same stage of civilization (feudalism, let us 
say), they will nevertheless present certain (perhaps unimportant) 
special traits. These special traits are the result of certain deviations 
in the conditions of evolution, as well as of the special conditions of 
evolution in the past. It would be absurd to deny such peculiarities, 
as it is impossible to deny certain peculiarities in the “national char- 
acter,” “temperament,” etc. To be sure, the presence of a class psychol- 
ogy may by no means be taken as a proof of certain special “national” 
traits (Marx, for instance, spoke of the philosophy of Bentham as a 
“specifically English” phenomenon; Engels described the socialism of 
the economist Rodbertus as a “Prussian junker socialism,” etc.). We 
may therefore also agree with Dr. E. Hurwicz—now Cunow’s com- 
panion-in-arms in the noble task of destroying the Bolsheviks—when 
he writes: “Vocational psychology does not exclude the possibility of 
national psychology”, and “the psychology of caste does not differ in 
this respect from the local psychology: neither precludes the possi- 
bility of a national psychology” (E. Hurwicz: Die Seelen der Vélker, 
Gotha 1920, pp. 14, 15). But the facts are these: Marxists explain 
these national traits on the basis of the actual course of social evolu- 
tion; they do not merely point at them; in the second place, they do 
not overestimate these peculiarities, or remain oblivious of the forest 
because of its many trees, while the worshipers of “national psychol- 
ogy,” etc., lose sight of the forest altogether; in the third place, they 
do not set down the absurd things cooked up by learned and unlearned 
babblers and philistines on the subject of the “national soul”, Every- 
one knows, for example, that any Russian philistine considers philis- 
tinism to be a permanent and immutable quality of the Germans; yet 
the German workers are now proving that such is not the case. We 
all know also how much humbug has been written about the “Slavic 
spirit’. When Hurwicz exclaims with rapture that Bolshevism is 
merely a topsy-turvy Tsarism, that the government methods in both 
cases are the same, etc., he reveals to us not the properties of the 
“Russian spirit”, allegedly responsible for this similarity, but the quali- 
ties of the spirit of an international petty bourgeois, now serving as a 
prop to the Social-Democratic parties. 


The class psychology is based on the aggregate of the condi- 
tions of life in the classes concerned, and these conditions are de- 
termined by the position of the classes in the economic and social- 
political environment. But the intricacy of any social psychology 
must not be overlooked. For example, similarities of form may 
be found in quite different class psychologies; thus, two classes 
engaged in a life and death struggle with each other of course 


a ee 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 213 


represent an entirely different content of feelings, aspirations, 
impressions, illusions, etc., while the form of their psychology may 
be quite similar: passionate zeal, furious and fanatical aggression, 
even their specific forms of heroic psychology. 

The fact that the class psychology is determined by the totality 
of the conditions of the class life, based on the general economic 
situation, should not lead us to ascribe the class psychology to 
selfish interest, which is a very frequent error. No doubt class 
interest is the main sinew of the class struggle, but class psychology 
includes many other elements. We have already observed that 
the philosophers of the ruling class in the period of the decline 
of the Roman Empire preached self-extermination with some suc- 
cess, because their preaching was an outgrowth of the psychology 
of this class, a psychology of repletion, satiety, of disgust with 
life. The causes for this psychology may be definitely traced; 
we have already found its roots in the parasitic rdle of the ruling 
class, which did nothing and merely lived in order to consume, to 
try out, to surfeit itself with all things, as was natural in view 
of its economic situation, its function (or lack of function) in 
the general economy. The psychology of satiety and necromania 
was a class psychology. Yet we may not say that Seneca, when 
he preached suicide, was expressing the interest of his class.*? 
The hunger strikes in the Tsarist prisons, for example, were acts 
in the class struggle, a protest in order to fan the flame of con- 
flict, a symbol of solidarity, a device to maintain the ranks of the 
fighters, and this struggle was dictated by class interests. At 
times, despair seizes the masses or certain groups, after a great 
defeat in the class struggle, which is of course connected with 
class interest, but the connection is somewhat peculiar: the con- 
flict went on under the impulse of the hidden springs of interest, 
but now the fighting army has been defeated; the result is: dis- 
integration, despair, a longing for miracles, a desire to escape 
mankind; thoughts turn heavenward.** After the defeat of the 
great insurrections in Russia in the Seventeenth Century, which 
had taken the form of religious dissent, “protest assumed many 
varied forms under the influence of defeat and despair”: retire- 
ment to the wilderness, self-incineration, “Hundreds, even thou- 


82 This romantic love of death during the decay of Roman society will be 
found exhaustively treated in Kautsky: Foundations of Christianity, A 
Study in Christian Origins, New York, International Publishers, 1925, 
pp. 114-128.—TRANSLATOR. 

33 Kautsky, ibid., pp. 128-141; 167-177; 383-387.—TRANSLATOR. 


214 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


sands, seek their death in the flames, ... ecstatic dreamers 
clothe themselves in pure funereal raiment and lie down in the 
coffins that have already been prepared, to wait for the crack of 
doom.” ** This psychology also finds expression in the two con- 
temporary poems quoted by Melgunov: 


Dear Mother Desert, 

Release me from earth’s sufferings, 
Receive me in your arms, 

Dear Mother Desert, 

Kind Mother, keep me. 


and: 


Coffin of pine-wood, 
There will I lie, 
Waiting for the last trump. 


It is obvious that the phenomenon of class psychology is of very 
complicated nature, not capable of direct interpretation as interest 
only, but always to be explained by the concrete environment in 
which the specific class has been placed. 

In the psychological structure of society, 7.e., among the various 
forms of the social psychology, we must not omit to mention the 
psychologies of groups, occupations, etc. There may be several 
groups within one class; thus, the bourgeoisie includes a bour- 
geoisie of high finance, a trading bourgeoisie and an industrial 
bourgeoisie; the working class includes’ the aristocracy of skilled 
labor, together with slightly skilled labor and wholly unskilled 
labor. Each of these groups has special interests and special char- 
acteristics; thus, the highly skilled worker likes his work and is 
even proud of being superior, as a worker, to the others; on the 
other hand, he is ambitious, and assumes certain bourgeois in- 
clinations, together with his high collar. Each occupation bears 
its mark; when we berate the bureaucrats, we mean a certain pro- 
fessional psychology of negative virtue: routine, red-tape delays, 
precedence of form over substance, etc. Vocational types of psy- 
chology arise, their mental traits a direct result of the character 
of their activity, whence follows also a corresponding tinge in their 
ideology. Friedrich Engels says: “Among the practical poli- 
ticians and the theorists in jurisprudence, and among the jurists 

84S. Melgunov: Russian Religious-Social Movements in the Seventeenth 


Century, in the Source-Book for Modern History, vol. i, p. 619 (in 
Russian). 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCYAL ELEMENTS 215 


in particular, this fact is first completely lost sight of. Since in 
each single instance the economic facts must take the form of 
juristic motives so as to be sanctioned in the form of law, and 
since, therefore, a backward view must be taken over the whole 
existing system of law, it follows therefrom (in the opinion of 
these persons, NV. B.) that the juristic form appears to be the whole 
and the economic content nothing at all.” °° His trade psychology 
will quickly betray a man; a minute’s conversation will tell you 
whether you are dealing with a clerk, a butcher, a reporter, etc. It 
is a characteristic fact that all these traits are international; you 
find them everywhere. By the side of the class psychology, which 
is the plainest, most pregnant and most significant form of the 
social psychology, we find a group psychology, a vocational psy- 
chology, etc.; being determines consciousness. In this sense we 
may say that each grouping of men—even in an amateur chess 
club or chorus—imparts a certain—sometimes almost imperceptible 
—stamp on its members. But since the existence of a certain 
grouping of persons is nevertheless always associated with the eco- 
nomic structure of society, being ultimately dependent on the lat- 
ter, 1t follows that all the varieties of the social psychology are 
quantities to be explained by the social mode of production, the 
economic structure of society. 

What is the relation between the social psychology and the 
social ideology? The social psychology is a sort of supply-cham- 
ber for ideology; or, it may be compared with a salt solution out 
of which the ideology is crystallized. At the beginning of this 
section, we stated that the ideology is distinguished by the great 
coordination of its elements, 1.e., the various feelings, thoughts, 
sensations, forms, of which it is composed. The ideology sys- 
tematizes that which has hitherto been not systematized, i.e., the 
social psychology. The ideologies are a coagulated social psy- 
chology. For example, early in the history of the workers’ move- 
ment, there was a certain crude discontent among the working 
class, a sense of the “injustice” of the capitalist order, a vague 
desire to replace this system by some other system; we could not 
call this an ideology. Later, however, this vague tendency was 
definitely formulated. Things were coordinated, a set of demands 
(a program, platform) arose, a specific “ideal’’ began to appear, 
idealism, etc.; here we have an ideology. Or, we may find that 


85 Friedrich Engels: Feuerbach, translated by Austin Lewis, Chicago, 
1906, p. I17. 


216 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


the discomforts of a situation, and the aspiration to cast it off, 
find expression in a work of art; here also we have an ideology. 
It is sometimes difficult to draw the line sharply; the actual proc- 
ess is a slow solidification, consolidation, crystallization of the 
social ideology out of the social psychology. A change in the 
social psychology will of course result in a corresponding change 
in the social ideology, as we have pointed out above. The social 
psychology is constantly changing, simultaneously with the altera- 
tions in the economic conditions from which they grow, for the 
latter bring about a constant regrouping of these social forces, a 
growth of new relations, based on the successively altered levels 
of the productive forces as has been already point out. 


Having given a number of examples in our discussion of ideology, 
we need not dwell upon the alterations in social psychology as connected 
with the alterations in ideology; we shall merely point out that the 
latest books are now devoting considerable attention to the question 
of the so called “spirit of capitalism”, 1.e., the psychology of the entre- 
preneurs. For instance, the works of Werner Sombart (Der Bour- 
geois, etc.), Max Weber, and more recently Professor Dr. Hermann 
Levy (Soziologische Studien iiber das englische Volk, Jena 1920). 
Marx wrote, in the First Volume of Capital: “Protestanism, by chang- 
ing almost all the traditional holidays into workdays, plays an impor- 
tant part in the genesis of capital” (Chicago, 1915, p. 303, footnote). 
Marx repeatedly points out that the bigoted, frugal, parsimonious, and 
at the same time energetic and persistent mentality of Protestanism, 
abhorring the pomp and luxury of Rome, is identical with the mental- 
ity of the rising bourgeoisie. People poked fun at this statement; but 
now prominent bourgeois scholars are developing this very theory of 
Marx, of course without giving credit to its originator. Sombart 
proves that the most varied traits (avarice for gold, untiring lust for 
adventure, inventive spirit, combined with calculation, reason, sobriety) 
gave rise to the so called “capitalist spirit” by reason of their united 
presence. It goes without saying that this spirit could not have de- 
veloped out of itself, but was shaped by an alteration in the social 
relations; parallel with the growth of the capitalist “body” proceeded 
a growth of the capitalist “spirit”. All the fundamental traits of the 
economic psychology are reversed: in the pre-capitalist era, the basic 
economic notion of the nobility was that of a “decent” life, “according 
to station’. “Money exists in order to be spent,” wrote Thomas 
Aquinas; things were managed poorly, irrationally, without proper 
bookkeeping; tradition and routine predominated; the tempo of life 
was slow (almost every other day a holiday); initiative and energy 
were lacking. On the other hand, the capitalist psychology, which 
replaced the feudal-chivalrous psychology, is based on initiative, energy, 
briskness, rejection of routine, rational calculation and reflection, love 
of accumulating riches, etc. The complete upheaval in men’s minds 
proceeded simultaneously with the complete upheaval in the production 
relations, 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 217 
f. The Ideological Processes Considered as Differentiated Labor 


The question of ideologies and of the superstructure in general 
must also be considered from another standpoint. We have 
already seen that the various forms of the superstructure are a 
composite quantity, by the nature of their construction, and in- 
clude things as well as persons; the ideologies themselves are a 
sort of mental product. This being the case, we necessarily con- 
sider the forms of the superstructure in their evolution (and con- 
sequently also the ideological process) as a special form of social 
labor (but not of material production; the two must not be con- 
fused). In the beginnings of “human history”, i.¢., at the time 
when surplus labor did not exist, we find practically no ideology. 
Only later as surplus labor arises, “a class which is relieved of di- 
rectly productive labor is formed by the side of the great ma- 
jority which does nothing but toil; this new class takes care of 
the common concerns of society: supervision of labor, affairs of 
state, justice, sciences, arts, etc. Therefore, we find at the basis 
of the division into classes: the law of the division of labor” 
(Friedrich Engels: Die Entwicklung des Sozialismus von der 
Utopie zur Wissenschaft, Berlin, 1920, p. 49). In one pas- 
sage, Marx designates priests, lawyers, the ruling classes, etc., 
as the “ideological classes”. In other words, the ideological proc- 
esses may be considered as a specific form of labor within the 
general labor system. This labor is not material production, nor 
does it constitute a portion of this material production, but re- 
sults from the latter, as our study of ideologies has shown, and 
sets up an independent domain of social activity. The increas- 
ing division of labor is an expression of the increasing pro- 
ductive forces of society, wherefore the growth of the pro- 
ductive forces conditions also a division of labor in the field of 
material production, accompanied by an isolation of the ideological 
labor, having its own division of labor. “The division of labor 
is not a characteristic of the economic world; its growing in- 
fluence may be observed in the most varied fields of society, in the 
increasing specialization of political, administrative, legal func- 
tions. The same thing may be observed in art and science.” % 
We may now view the whole of society as a _ huge 
working mechanism, with many subdivisions of the dj- 
vided social labor. This great labor aggregate may be divided 


86 Emil Durkheim: De Ia division du travail social, Paris, 1893, p. 2, 


2155 0 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


into two great categories, first, material labor, “production” as 
such; second, the various forms of labor in the superstructure, 
the work of supervision, etc., as well as ideological labor as such. 
The organization of this labor goes hand in hand with the or- 
ganization of material labor, and is along the same general lines; 
it includes a class hierarchy, those holding the means of production 
being at the top, and those without such means at the bottom. 
In the process of material production (1) those in charge have a 
special rdle in this process, which is (2) determined by the fact 
that the means of production are in their hands, and (3) they also 
have control of distribution by virtue of this circumstance; such 
also is the case in almost all the branches of “superstructural” 
labor. The army has already served as an illustration; the same 
might be noted in science and art. A great technical laboratory, 
under capitalist society, has an internal organization similar to 
that in the factory. The theatre, under capitalism, has its owner, 
its manager, its actors, its “supes’”; its technical employees, its 
clerks, workers, just as in a factory. We consequently find here 
(i.e., in a class society) various functions socially connected with 
these persons; the higher function involves, so to say, a possession 
of the “means of mental production’, constituting a class 
monopoly; in the distribution of the products of material produc- 
tion (men live, of course, by consuming material commodities), 
the possessors of these “instruments of mental production” obtain 
a greater share of the social product than their subordinates. 


We know how firmly the ruling classes have clung to the monopoly 
of knowledge. In antiquity, the priests who held this monopoly barred 
the “temples of science’, to which they admitted but a few chosen 
ones; knowledge itself was enveloped in the shroud of a divinely 
awful mystery, accessible to only a few of the wise and just. The 
store set by this monopoly by the ruling classes is apparent, for example, 
from the following words of the well-known German idealist philos- 
opher, F. Paulsen: “Anyone whose social conditions force him to 
remain a manual worker by trade and status, would not find it a gain 
to have received the schooling of a scholar; such training would not 
enhance, but darken his life’ (Friedrich Paulsen: Das moderne Bil- 
dungswesen, in Kultur der Gegenwart, part i, section I, p. 24; we may 
observe in passing that this gigantic work, the Kultur der Gegenwart— 
a product of the finest brains among the German professors—is dedi- 
cated to Emperor William II!). Apparently the honored philosopher 
and idealist regards a man as bound down to the compulsory labor of 
capitalism, even in his mother’s womb, and deprives him of education 
even before he has seen the light of the sun. 

The monopoly character of education was the principal reason for 
the opposition of the Russian intellectuals to the revolution of the 





EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 219 


proletariat; conversely, one of the principal achievements of the pro- 
letarian revolution was the abolition of this monopoly. 

An inspection of material production will show that it is divided 
into a number of branches; in the first place, into manufacturing 
and agriculture, both of which are further subdivided into a great 
number of sections, from mining operations and grain-growing to 
the manufacture of pins and the raising of lettuce. Here, as in 
the “superstructure”, there are large subdivisions (such as those 
previously considered, i.e., administration, the setting of stand- 
ards, of science, of art, of religion, of philosophy, etc.) ; further- 
more, each of these subdivisions is further ramified (for instance, 
science now consists of many branches; so does art). In material 
production, as we have seen, a certain rough proportion must 
exist—if society is to go on—between the various branches of 
production. Even in a blind, capitalist social order, with no social 
plan of production at all, but rather with anarchy in production, 
1.€., a disproportion between the various branches of production, 
even here we find a constant adjustment within this anarchy; 
violent disturbances of this proportion meet with their reaction, 
of course, not without much pain, and not for long periods, but 
there is a certain temporary equilibrium, for otherwise capitalist 
society would go to pieces as the result of a single industrial crisis. 
While it is possible for a society to exist in spite of the fact that 
there is no harmony between its material production and the other 
forms of its labor, the non-material forms, such a society will not 
grow but decline. For instance, where too much labor is allotted 
to the maintenance of theaters, the government mechanism, or the 
church, or art, the productive forces themselves will decline. It 
is obvious that this would be the case, for instance, in a community 
in which there was one worker and seven men supervising and 
calculating his product, with two others encouraging him by sing- 
ing, and another man governing the whole process. Since all 
must eat, it is obvious that such a labor system would not endure 
for long. But it is also quite obvious that—in spite of all the 
effort the workers might put in—a working community would fare 
very badly unless its various members formed a coordinated sys- 
tem, in which their product was duly tabulated, and in which 
certain individuals took care of relations with the outside world. 
Therefore, if society as a whole is to endure, there must exist 
within it a certain condition of equilibrium (though it be un- 
stable) between the material work as a whole and the superstruc- 


220) aur HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


tural work as a whole. Let us assume for a moment that all the 
scholars (mathematicians, engineers, chemists, physicists, etc.) in 
the United States of America should disappear overnight; the 
huge production of that country could not go on, based as it is 
on scientific calculation, but would decline. Let us assume, on the 
other hand, that 99 per cent. of the present workers should sud- 
denly be miraculously transformed into learned mathematicians, 
not participating in production. The resulting bankruptcy would 
be complete; society would perish. Not only is a certain propor- 
tion (even though its limits be indefinite) necessary in any society 
between the total material labor and the total superstructural 
labor, but the distribution of labor within the superstructure, 1.e., 
among the various forms of the “mental” supervising and other 
activity, is also of importance. As there is a certain equilibrium 
between the various forms of material labor (these various forms 
tend to equilibrium, as Marx puts it), so there must be a certain 
modicum of such equilibrium between the branches of ideological 
work, in fact, of the “superstructural” work in general. The co- 
ordination of these ideological “branches of production” is ulti- 
mately determined by the economic structure of society. Why, 
for instance, was so vast a quantity of national labor in ancient 
Egypt devoted to the construction of the huge pyramids, great 
Pharaonic statues, and other monuments of feudal art? For the 
simple reason that Egyptian society could not have maintained 
itself without constantly impressing upon the slaves and peasants 
the sublimity and the divine power of their rulers. In the ab- 
sence of newspapers and telegraph agencies, art served as the 
ideological bond; it was therefore a sine qua non for this society 
and took an enormous share of the country’s labor budget. Simi- 
larly, “ethics”, the establishment of moral standards, assumed a 
very important place in Greece at the end of the Fifth Century 
B.c., because the question of the relations between men, and of 
the regulation of these relations, had become particularly acute, 
even for the ruling classes, who were impelled by the great gulfs 
that had opened up, to seek to conciliate divergent tendencies. Art 
is but feebly developed in the United States of America of our 
day, while the same country is a pioneer in the study and applica- 
tion of the science of organized production as a whole (the Taylor 
system, vocational psychology, psycho-physiology of labor, etc.), 
because American capitalism does not need to resort to art in 
order to mould the minds of the people; this task is excellently 





EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 221 


performed by a capitalist newspaper press that has been perfected 
to the point of virtuosity; the question of a national production, 
a “scientific management’, is of ‘immense importance in the life 
of such a system. : 

A certain proportion between the parts is therefore necessary 
in the field of “superstructural” (and consequently of any ideo- 
logical) labor, so long as society is in a state of equilibrium, this 
proportion between the various branches of mental work, and 
their distribution, being determined by the economic structure of 
society and the requirements of its technology. 

An interesting application of these observations may be made to 
the school, which is one of the fields of ideological labor. Indeed, 
schools (universities, high schools, elementary schools) are the 
sphere of common social labor in which instruction is given, in 
which the labor forces are endowed with a certain skill, a specific 
“training”, simple human labor power being thus transformed 
into specific labor power. One person studies medicine, another 
law, military science, engineering, etc. The same condition of af- 
fairs is found throughout the field of instruction, i.¢., all those 
special processes in which specific abilities are imparted to men, 
which are required for the performance of more or less specialized 
functions; essentially there is no difference between the trade 
school that turns out locksmiths, and the educational institution 
that turns out the geniuses of the pulpit, or the Tsarist cadet 
school, producing its crack officers. It follows that the school 
system, its division into various branches (commercial schools, 
trade schools, cadet schools, schools of engineering, universities, 
etc.) are an expression of society’s need for various kinds of 
skilled—material and mental—labor. 


A few examples will clarify our thought. 

In the Middle Ages, the school stood in the sign of the priesthood. 
Feudal society could not exist without a tremendous development of 
religion. Therefore: “The monastic and cathedral schools and the 
overwhelming number of chancellor universities, the life in the bursae, 
and the instruction in the artistic faculty—all these had a monastic 
priestly tinge, everything having been devised and arranged according 
to the ecclesiastical theological spirit” (Theobald Ziegler: Geschichte 
der Péddagogik, in Handbuch der Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre 
fiir hoéhere Schiiler, vol. i, Miinchen 1895, p. 33). “Except the few 
medical and legal professional schools, the universities as well as the 
lower schools were concerned above all with the training of clerics’ 
(ibid.). In addition, there were schools for training knights; in these, 
“education” no longer served to develop priestly “labor power”, but 
Knightly “labor power”. The boys were instructed chiefly in seven 


222 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


virtues (probitates) ; these were “the seven probitates of the knight, 
six of them being purely physical arts (equitare, natare, sagittare, 
cestibus certare, aucupari, scacis ludere: riding, swimming, archery, 
fencing, hunting, chess-playing) and the remaining one, versificare, 
poetry and music” (ibid.). Obviously, this must have produced a 
different type of man, necessary for feudal society. 

But now we have the growth of cities, the commercial bourgeoisie, 
etc.; the result of this condition is well described by Professor Ziegler, 
whom we have already quoted: “But (p. 34) new educational needs 
arise in another field. In the blossoming cities, the merchant and the 
artisan (my italics—N.B.) required a different practical education 
than was given to the scholar or judge; the erection of schools by the 
city was resorted to, for the purpose of providing these circles with 
the necessary important instruction.” 

With the development of industrial capitalism and the increasing 
demand for skilled labor, the so called trade school is born in the field 
of material labor. “In order to support the national industry, govern- 
ments and private persons began to establish trade and artisan schools, 
destined to provide such vocational instruction to the pupils as they 
had formerly obtained in the master’s shop” (N. Krupskaya: Popular 
Education and Democracy, Moscow, 1921, p. 94, in Russian). This 
school undergoes certain changes with the growth of large-scale indus- 
try, and the increasing demand for masters, supervisors, foremen, etc. 
(ibid., p. 96). Simultaneously, the intermediate schools and higher 
trade schools, giving more prominence to natural science and mathe- 
matics, now flourish on a very large scale, also commercial universities, 
agricultural schools, etc. 

The above cited German idealist philosopher, F. Paulsen, expounds 
the significance of capitalist education with frank brutality. These 
passages in his work are so instructive and give so precise a picture, 
that we must present them unabridged (Paulsen’s frankness may be 
explained by the fact that he is contributing to a thick and heavy volume 
which will not fall into the hands of the workers; he therefore writes 
for the capitalist bandits only, and can afford to tell tales out of 
school) : 

“The actual outline of the educational system is determined every- 
where, in the main, by the outline of society and its stratification. . 
The form of the public educational system will always reflect the con- 
dition of the society producing it. Society shows everywhere a double 
stratification: a grouping according to the form of the social perform- 
ance of labor, and a grouping by property relations. The first grouping 
furnishes the division into vocational stations; the difference in prop- 
erty gives rise to the division into social classes. Both have an influ- 
ence on the educational system; the main outlines of the social per- 
formance of labor, the vocational social station, determine on the 
whole the varieties of instructional type; the class membership or the 
property standing of their families to a great extent determines the 
distribution of young men to the various courses... . It (society) 
needs and has motor, executive, and mentally operating and guiding 
functions and organs. The first group includes all those whose labor 
achievement is essentially that of bodily strength and manual dexterity; 
here we should place the industrial workers and artisans of all kinds, 
rural workers and small peasants, and, lastly, those employed in trade 
and transportation as the lowest executive instruments. The second 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 223 


group includes those whose vocational task essentially is that of con- 
trolling the social labor process and giving instructions and guidance 
to manual laborers; here belong the factory owners and technical 
specialists, managers of great farms, merchants and bankers, higher 
employees in trade and transportation, also subaltern officials in the 
service of nation and community. The third group, finally, includes 
those professions customarily classed as “learned”; their practice re- 
quires an independent grasping and extending of scientific knowledge: 
here belong research workers and inventors, also the incumbents of 
the higher places in the civil and military service, in church and school, 
physicians, engineers in high position, etc.” (Paulsen, in Kultur der 
Gegenwart, part i, section i, pp. 64, 65). The grading of the schools 
corresponds to these three groups. Paulsen’s statements are an excel- 
lent indication of the school mechanism: on the one hand, it provides 
the necessary number of labor forces for each material and mental 
task; on the other hand, the higher ideological functions always remain 
fixed to a certain class, the educational monopoly, and with it the capi- 
talist order of society, being thus maintained. But Paulsen is wrong 
in placing himself and his ilk over the manufacturers and bankers 
whose boots the learned gentlemen lick on all necessary and unnecessary 
occasions. 


Thus the school illustrates the practical roots of all ideologies. 
If any mathematician should be indignant at our suggesting that 
his “pure science” has any earthly import, we shall merely ask him 
to inform us why mathematics is studied by the merchants’ sons 
in the commercial high schools, the would-be agronomists in the 
agricultural schools, the would-be engineers in the engineering 
schools, etc. He may reply that only the riff-raff of the pro- 
fession would consent to give them instruction; we should then 
ask him why “pure mathematicians”’—who really seem quite igno- 
rant of practical life—should deliver lectures before persons pre- 
paring for the professions of engineering or agriculture. Our 
mathematician may go so far as to say that there are some scholars 
that give no instruction, deliver no lectures. But surely—as we 
should then assert—these men write books which are read by pro- 
_ fessors who give instruction to future engineers who make use 
of what knowledge they acquire in order to calculate problems 
in the construction of bridges, steam-boilers, electrical power sta- 
tions, etc. 

Furthermore, the case of the school indicates the relative need 
of the specific society for various types of skilled labor, including 
the “highest”. 

The various sciences are therefore as much interconnected by 
the bond of labor as are the various branches of material labor. 
Likewise, the other branches of ideological labor are connected 


224 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


with the sciences, all being based ultimately and constantly on 
material labor. 


g. The Significance of the Superstructure 


We may now take up a more detailed study of the significance 
of all the varieties of the superstructure, including the ideologies, 
which may best be done in a critical examination of the objections 
commonly raised by the opponents of the theory of historical ma- 
terialism. 

First, there are the objections to the practical roots of ideology, 
to the claim that the forms of the “superstructure’’, including those 
of ideology, have any significance as services. We are told that 
scholars or artists very often are not concerned at all with the 
practical role played by their thoughts or constructions. On the 
contrary, the scholar, in his search for “pure truth”, is merely 
expressing his love of this goddess; his marriage to her is a love- 
match, based on no practical considerations of any kind. Simi- 
larly, we are told that the true artist loves art for art’s sake. Art 
is his highest goal; art alone gives life meaning for him. As a 
jurist may declare that he would wish to see the world destroyed 
rather than that justice be not done (fiat justitia, pereat mundus!), 
so the true musician would give everything else in the world for 
a single glorious symphony. The true artist lives for his art, the 
scholar for science, the jurist for the state (Hegel, for instance, 
considers the Prussian junker capitalist state to be the highest 
manifestation of the world:spirit in human history, and therefore 
worthy of receiving self-sacrifice), etc. 

Now, is it true that scholars and artists have this attitude, or 
are they pulling the wool over the eyes of the public? While 
the latter may sometimes occur, we have not the right to approach 
the subject from this angle. Thousands of examples prove that 
a true scholar, or artist, or theoretical jurist, loves his vocation as 
he loves himself, without regard to its practical phases. But it 
would be wrong to have the matter end there, for the subject of 
the psychology of the ideologists is not to be confused with their 
objective role; man’s view of his labor is not identical with the 
role, the significance, of his labor for society. Let us examine 
the growth of an ideology. Mathematics, for instance—arose on 
the basis of practical needs—became specialized and divided off 
into a number of branches. The specialist is not aware of the 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 225 


practical needs satisfied by his science. He is interested in his 
“own work”; the more he loves it, the more productive will it be. 
Other persons, working in other fields, will apply his theory. Be- 
fore the days of specialization, the practical significance of science 
was apparent to everyone; now it has been lost. Knowledge 
formerly served practice, even in men’s minds; it still serves 
practice, but the minds of the closeted specialists represent knowl- 
edge as entirely divorced from practice. The causes are not far 
to seek; man’s thinking is influenced by his being. To a man 
working in one ideological field only, this field must appear as the 
navel of the earth, about which all else revolves. This man lives 
in the atmosphere of his specialty, for—as Engels has excellently 
put it—ideology is simply the “occupying oneself with thoughts 
as with independent entities developing independently, subject 
only to their own laws.” *’ Before the days of specialization, a 
man might have thought: “TI guess I’ll take up some geometry, 
in order to measure the fields down by the shore next year.” But 
the mathematical specialist would probably say: “I have got to 
solve this problem; it is my life-work.” Somewhat different in 
expression, but identical in sense, is Ernst Mach’s formulation of 
the case: ‘For the artisan, and more still for the scientist, the 
quickest, simplest mental acquisition—with the slightest mental 
outlay—of a certain field of natural phenomena is itself an eco- 
nomic object, in which, although it was originally a means to an 
end, there 1s now no longer a thought of physical need, once the 
corresponding mental impulses have developed and demand ex- 
ercise.” °8 Thus, the system of the superstructure, from the social- 
political to the philosophical phase inclusive, is connected with the 
economic basis and the technical system of the specific society, 
being a necessary link in the chain of social phenomena. 


In this connection, Engels says in a letter addressed to Franz 
Mehring, dated July 14, 1893: “Ideology is a process accomplished, 
to be sure, by so called thought, but with a false consciousness. This 
process does not know the actual motive forces behind it, otherwise 
it would not be an ideological process. Being a process of thought, 
it derives its content as well as its form from pure thought, either on 
its own part or on that of its predecessors. It works with mere mental 
material, which it assumes and accepts as the product of thought, and 
for which it does not seek any more remote process, that may be inde- 
pendent of thought, and all this is self-evident to this process, for it 


87 Iudwig Feuerbach, translated by Austin Lewis, Chicago, 1906, p. 119. 
88 Ernst Mach: Die Mechanik in ihrer Entwicklung, Leipzig, 1921, 8th ed., 
p. 6; italics are ours.—WN. B. 


226 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


regards all action, since it works through thought, as also in the last 
instance based on thought. . . . This illusion of an independent history 
of national constitutions, legal systems, ideological conceptions, in each 
special field of knowledge, is the element that leads most persons astray 
mentally” (Mehring: Geschichte der deutschen Sozialdemokratie, Note 
to Book i, Stuttgart 1919, p. 386). 

Another frequent objection to our theory results from pre- 
tending that it declares economy to be the only true element in 
life, all other elements being childish folly, illusions, vague mists. 
This conception represents historical materialism as stating the 
existence of various factors in history: economy, politics, art, 
etc., some of which are very important, others unimportant, with 
the economic “factor” as the only real “factor”, all the others 
being a sort of fifth wheel of the wagon. This representation 
of the Marxian conception is then diligently bombarded with 
refutations; it is pointed out that many other things are impor- 
tant besides economy; but it would be erroneous to interpret our 
view of ideology in this way; the superstructure is not “child’s 
play”. We have shown that a destruction of the capitalist state 
would make capitalist production impossible, that a destruction 
of modern science would involve also that of large-scale produc- 
tion and technology; that an elimination of the means of human 
intercourse, language and literature, would cause society to dis- 
integrate. The theory of historical materialism does not deny the 
importance of the superstructure in general and of the ideologies 
in particular, but explains them. As.we have shown in our chap- 
ter on Determinism and Indeterminism, this is quite a different 
attitude. 

It would be equally incorrect to consider the various “fac- 
tors” from the point of view of their unequal value; to admit 
the importance of economy, but to belittle that of politics or sci- 
ence. Many misunderstandings result from such an interpreta- 
tion. Why attempt to set up a scale of the relative importance 
of these “factors”, when we recall that capitalist economy could 
not exist without capitalist politics? It would be difficult to decide 
whether—in a rifle—the barrel or the trigger was the more im- 
portant; or—in the human body—the left hand or the right foot; 
or—in a watch—the spring or the cog-wheel. Some things are 
more important than others; economy is more important than 
dancing ; but in many cases it is absurd to make such a statement. 
A system may contain sections that are of equal importance for 
the existence of the whole. The trigger is as important in a rifle 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 227 


as the barrel; a single screw in a piece of mechanism may be as 
important as any other part, for without it the mechanism might 
cease to be a mechanism. Similarly, in a consideration of the 
“superstructural” labor, as a portion of the total social labor, it 
would be equally absurd to ask either of the following questions: 
which is more important for modern industry, metallurgy or min- 
ing? Which is more important, direct material labor, or labor 
in economic administration? At certain stages in evolution, the 
two may be inseparable. “This theory (the theory of these fac- 
tors, NV. B.) played the same role in the evolution of social science. 
The progress of natural science has shown us the unity of these 
forces, the modern doctrine of energy. Likewise, the progress of 
social science has necessarily led to a displacement of the theory 
of factors—this product of social analysis—by a synthetic concep- 
tion of social life.’ *° We therefore reject the theory of factors. 
But there remains a basis for the distinction between material pro- 
duction and the superstructure, and for a study of their mutual 
relations. 

The true difference is in the different character of their func- 
tions. The administration of production does not play the same 
part as does production itself. The former eliminates friction, 
systematizes and coordinates the various elements of work, or— 
to put it differently—institutes a certain adjustment of work. We 
have also seen, for instance, that morality, customs, and other 
standards, coordinate men’s actions and keep them within certain 
bounds, thus preventing society from disintegrating. Science like- 
wise (let us suppose we are speaking of the natural sciences) 
ultimately serves as a guide for the process of production, in- 
creases its effectiveness and regulates its operation. We have de- 
fined the similar function of philosophy, which coordinates and 
regulates (or seeks to do so) the contradictions between the vari- 
ous sciences, due to their division of labor. 

Philosophy arises from the sciences, as the administration of 
production arises from production; neither is “primary”; both are 
“secondary”, neither “original”, both “derivative”; yet, philosophy 
controls the sciences, to a certain degree, for it imparts to them 
their “common point of view”, their “method”, etc. 

Another example that has already been treated is that of lan- 
guage; the latter grows out of production, develops under the in- 


89N. Beltov: On the Materialistic Conception of History, in Criticism 
of our Critics (in Russian), p. 313. 


228 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


fluence of the social evolution, 7.e., its evolution is determined by 
the natural law of social evolution. The function of language is 
to coordinate man’s actions, for mutual understanding is the sim- 
plest form of adaptation, coordination, in relations, actions, even 
—to a certain extent—in feelings, etc. The fundamental import 
of the distinction between material production and ideological 
labor—or any other “‘superstructural’”’ labor—should now be clear. 
Their mutual relation is in the fact that ideological labor is a 
derived quantity, also constituting a regulating principle. With 
regard to the whole of social life, the distinction lies in their dif- 
ference of functions. 

We have now practically answered also the question as to the 
reverse relation, “the influence of the superstructure on the eco- 
nomic basis and on the productive forces of society”. The super- 
structure, growing out of the economic conditions and the pro- 
ductive forces determining these conditions, in its turn, exerts an 
influence on the latter, favoring or retarding their growth. But, 
in either case, there is no doubt of this reverse process. In other 
words: a constant process of mutual cause and effect is in opera- 
tion between the various categories of social phenomena. Cause 
and effect change place. 

But if we recognize this mutual influence, what becomes of the 
bases of Marxian theory? For most bourgeois scholars admit a 
mutual interaction. May we still say that the productive forces 
and the production conditions are the' basis of our analysis? Are 
not our own hands destroying what they have built up? These 
doubts are quickly disposed of. However numerous these mutual 
influences, the basic fact remains: at any given moment the inner 
structure of society is determined by the mutual relation between 
this society and external nature, i.e., by the condition of the ma- 
terial productive forces of society; the change in form, however, ts 
determined by the movement of the productive forces. We go 
further than merely to admit the existence of a set of mutual re- 
lations, for we understand that all the countless processes at work 
within society, all their intersecting, colliding, accumulating forces 
and elements are operating within a common frame, provided by 
the mutual relation between society and nature. Perhaps our op- 
ponents will attempt to controvert this principle, already known 
to Goethe in its general outlines, and expressed by him in his 
poem, “The Metamorphosis of Animals”, a poem not so well 
known as his ‘Metamorphosis of Plants”. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 229 


Alle Glieder bilden sich aus nach ew’gen Gesetzen, 

Und die seltenste Form bewahrt im Geheimen das Urbild. 

Also bestimmt die Gestalt die Lebensweise des Tieres. 

Und die Weise zu leben, sie wirkt auf alle Gestalten 

Machtig zurtick. So zeiget sich fest die geordnete Bildung 

Welche zum Wechsel sich netgt durch dusserlich wirkende 
Wesen.* 


This thesis is irrefutable; it follows that our analysis must begin 
with the productive forces, that the countless mutual dependences 
between the various parts of society do not eliminate the basic, 
ulttmate dependence of all social phenomena on the evolution of 
the productive forces; that the diversity of the causes operating in 
society does not contradict the existence of a single unified causal 
relation in social evolution. 


We cannot take up here the individual objections of the various 
bourgeois scholars; their number is legion. Essentially, they are all 
chewing the same old insipid cud. Let us take one of the latest “criti- 
cal” essays as an example; Professor V. M. Khvostov expounds 
Marx’s theory as follows: “It consists on the whole (!) in assigning, 
among the historical factors (!), the chief place to the economic 
factor (!) . . . all other phenomena being shaped under the one-sided 
(!) influence of the economic conditions” (Khvostov: Theory of the 
Historical Process, in Russian, p. 315). After our recent remarks in 
large type, we need hardly to inform the reader whether Khvostov’s 
conception of Marxian theory is a correct one. But, to do him justice, 
Mr. Khvostov constitutes no exception; on the contrary, the greater 
the erudition displayed in the refutation of Marx, the greater the 
ignorance displayed in expounding his doctrine. 

We shall take one more specimen of “refutation” (from the same 
professor): “I believe (!) that man is characterized by the most 
varied aspirations. In the first place, he is concerned with preserving 
his physical existence, for which he undertakes certain actions. In the 
second place, he makes an effort to evaluate the universe in himself, 
and this is a peculiar human tendency, independent of any material 
calculations. In the third place, man also possesses such desires as, 
for example, the love of domination, the love of freedom; men also 
have religious, esthetic, needs, a need for the sympathy of their sur- 
roundings, etc.” (ibid., pp. 317-320). Having served us this chowder 
of human needs, Khvostov draws the conclusion that a “monistic ex- 
planation . . . is impossible”. But Khvostov’s example, quoted above, 
will serve to indicate the full absurdity of his view (quite current 


* The following inadequate English translation of these lines is submitted, 
existing collections of Goethe’s poems in English having neglected this poem: 
All the limbs take shape according to laws immortal, 
Even unusual forms always remaining close to original type. 
. .. Thus the animal’s mode of life determines its figure 
As well as its habits; it has a mighty reverse influence 
On all types. Thus the orderly formation is firmly shown, 
Tending to fluctuate as influenced by beings working from without. 
—TRANSLATOR. 


230 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


among “scholars” all over the world), as well as the necessity for a 
monistic explanation. In fact, is it not a parody of scientific thought 
to consider the tendency to religion, to domination, etc., as eternal 
categories? Khvostov never even thinks of asking for an explanation 
of them. Religion exists; how shall we explain it? Well, by means 
of man’s need of religion. Domination exists; why? Simply because 
man has a desire for domination. Is this not similar to “explaining” 
sleep as due to a force that “puts to sleep”? Can anything be explained 
in this way? By the use of this method, everything in the world can 
be “explained” without turning an eyelid: the state is explained by the 
desire for the state; art, by the desire for art; the circus by the desire 
for the circus; Khvostov’s explanations, by the need felt for Khvostov’s 
explanations; walking, by the desire for walking; and so on, ad infini- 
tum. Such a “theory” of the historical process is not worth a penny. 
“The love of liberty is an inherent tendency in man.” Nothing could 
be farther from the truth! Was the “love of liberty” an inherent 
tendency in Nicholas II, during his reign, or in his class? Of course 
not. In spite of Khvostov, this noble impulse is not, therefore, present 
in all men. When we have understood this, we are faced with the 
next question: “Why do certain men have this tendency; while others 
do not?” And then—oh, horror !—we must go back to the conditions 
of their existence, etc. The same applies to all the rest of Khvostov’s 
“different needs”. The scholars of the bourgeoisie, in kicking against 
the traces of a monistic interpretation, are in reality fighting against 
any form of explanation at all. 


h. The Formative Principles of Social Life 


We are now prepared to discuss the general question of the pos- 
sibility of distinguishing a definite “characteristic” of each spe- 
cific “era”. Shall we perhaps find that the connection existing 
between all the social phenomena will express itself in the exist- 
ence of some element common to all? We have seen that they 
are all determined “in the last analysis” by the productive forces 
and the production relations. How may this connection be re- 
capitulated in a few words? How shall this problem be ap- 
proached? Let us consider art, one of the “finest”, “most com- 
plicated” phenomena of mental life. In each epoch, as we have 
seen, art has its own “style”, expressing itself in specific forms, 
indicative of the specific content (let us recall the example of 
the Egyptian art), which—in turn—is indicative of a specific 
ideology; the ideology is the outgrowth of a specific psychology; 
the psychology of a specific economy; the economy of a specific 
stage of the productive forces. 

Now, if we observe a certain definiteness of forms in all the 
fields of social life, may we assert that all these fields have their 
style? We may; it is as reasonable to speak of the “style” of 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 231 


“science”, as of the style of “art”. We may speak of a “style 
of life”, i.¢., of typical, specific forms of life.*? We may ina 
certain sense speak of the style of the social economy, meaning 
precisely what Marx terms the “production relations’, the “mode 
of production’, the “economic structure of society”. As the style 
of a certain building is determined by the specific combination of 
its elements, so the “style” of social economy expresses itself in 
the peculiarities of the production relations, the specific manner 
in which the elements of the social whole are connected with each 
other. “The peculiar shape and manner in which this union is 
realized distinguishes the various epochs of the social structure.” * 
But in addition to the “mode of production”, there is also a “mode 
of conception”, as Marx puts it. Such is the “style” of the ideol- 
ogy of the given period in general, 7.¢., that special combination of 
ideas, thoughts, feelings, forms, characteristic of the specific epoch, 
“the uniformity of scientific thinking, of conceptions of the world 
and of life’, to use the words of Professor Marbe.*? 

Is it possible thus to distinguish the “mode of production” and 
the “mode of conception”? Is it possible to distinguish between 
the economic “style” of a specific society and the ideological 
“style”? From what has been said concerning the superstructures 
in general and the ideologies in particular, it is certain that we 
have the right to do this. 

We may show this by means of an example: feudal society; 
the economic style of feudal society is expressed in the principles 
of a fixed hierarchy, the idea of rank. Marx characterizes the 
feudal epoch as follows: “Here, instead of the independent man, 
we find everyone dependent, serfs and lords, vassals and suzerains, 
laymen and clergy. Personal dependence here characterizes the 
social relations of production just as much as it does the other 
spheres of life organized on the basis of that production’’.** 
This character of the economy and the other spheres of life is 
precisely the “style” of the epoch, the hierarchical arrangement 
by rank, in economy; the hierarchical dependence in the other 
spheres of life; the hierarchical “style” of the entire ideology. In- 
deed, the entire philosophy of man was then religious, and religion 


40 See what Simmel has to say on Lebensstil in his Philosophie des Geldes, 


p. 480. 

41 Marx: Capital, vol. ii, pp. 12, 13. 

42 Karl Marbe: Die Gleichférmigkett in der Welt, Untersuchungen sur 
Philosophie und positiven Wissenschaft, Miinchen, 1916, p. 86. 

43 Capital, vol. i, Chicago, 1915, pp. 88, 89 


232 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


is a philosophy that explains everything in a hierarchical manner, 
according to rank. Science is permeated with this idea of rank; 
so is art; and we find this condition expressed in the “style”. In 
the Middle Ages, rank is the “style” of all of life. And the uni- 
formity of this style proves the dependence of the “mode of con- 
ception” on the “mode of production”, of the system of ideas on 
the system of persons, the latter in turn being conditioned by the 
system of objects, i.e., by the social material productive forces. 
Such a basic stratum of style as is here afforded by hierarchy or 
rank, may be termed the “formative principle of social life’, based, 
as we have seen, on the production relations. 


This unity in the style of life is so obvious that even many bourgeois 
scholars come very close to accepting this view. Karl Lamprecht, for 
example, sets up the doctrine of the “dominant of personality,” 1.e., 
the prevailing type of psychology, changing with the conditions of the 
epoch, in which the old dominant is destroyed and a new one arises, a 
new “style of life” being created (K. Lamprecht: Moderne Geschichts- 
wissenschaft, Berlin. 1920, pp. 77 et seq.). In the solution of the 
question of formative principles, we also have a fairly simple solution 
of the question raised by Hammacher. The latter mobilizes the fol- 
lowing chief objection to the theory of historical materialism: “It 
remains a constant problem why only the economic relations could 
obtain admission into the historical soul” (Emil Hammacher: Das 
philosophisch-dkonomische System des Marxismus, Leipzig, 1909, p. 
178). This enigma is easily solved. Men are influenced not only by 
economic stimuli, but by everything that lies within the sphere of their 
experience; the general formative principles are determined, however, 
by the production relations, which are therefore “reflected” also in the 
ideological fields. This may be best observed in the case of religion. 
No doubt sunlight, thunder, death, sleep, all found “admission to the 
historical soul.” But the conception of godhood, of a “sublime power”, 
of “rank” in creation, did not arise until rank had already been estab- 
lished in social life. Into this frame, all “appropriate” phenomena 
were jammed in, including sleep and death. Approaching the subject 
from another angle: in bloody despotisms, the god of war was fre- 
quently the chief of all the gods. Being the god of war, he naturally 
also became god of thunder and lightning, which were the most awful 
“belligerent” forces of nature. Thunderstorms made an impression 
on the “historical soul”, but this material was shaped by the frame of 
the social relations. We might ask why the social relations give shape 
to this material; where is the inner relation? ‘The reason is very 
simple: the social environment has the foundations of its life in the 
production relations. . . . “We know that the uniformity of psychical 
phenomena may be traced back to the uniformity in the conditions of 
these phenomena” (Marbe, ibid., p. 52). Many facts taken from this 
field are “to a certain extent cultural products; Huber (in Zeitschrift 
fiir Psychologie, vol. 59, I911, pp. 241, et seq.) has shown that in 
experiments in psychological association, the quality of the reaction 
words depends, among other things, on the vocation and the habits of 
life of the persons experimented on” (Marbe, tbid.). In other words, 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 233 


different answers will be given to the same question (for instance, a 
request for a certain word), depending on the “habits of life” of the 
persons experimented on. It is, therefore, not surprising to find the 
social psychology and ideology to be dependent on the mode of pro- 
duction of material life, and simultaneously on the productive forces. 


t. Types of Economic Structure; Types of Various Societies 


Any investigation of society will encounter certain historical 
types of society. In other words, there is no such thing as society 
“in general”; we are always dealing with society in a specific 
historical raiment ; each society wears the uniform of its time. For 
we know that any specific society is an aggregate of human beings 
in constant interrelation with each other, these interrelations being 
based on the labor relations of men, on the system of production 
relations, if these mutual labor relations be visualized at any given 
moment. But this system of production relations is the aggre- 
gate of human beings arranged in a specific manner, namely, of 
beings connected not only by a labor bond, but by a specific type 
of such bond. It is therefore evident that society exists only on 
a specific labor basis, and as this specific basis, the specific mode 
of production, gives rise to a specific mode of conception (view 
of life), it follows that it will condition the type of society as a 
whole, and not only in its material productive or economic portion. 
The technology conditions the mode of production; the mode of 
production conditions the view of life; this chain uniting the ma- 
terial, human, and mental system creates a certain type of society. 
As we distinguish genera, species, and families in the animal world, 
so we distinguish social types in sociology. This has been re- 
peatedly emphasized, but we must again point out as our basic 
thought, that this difference between the social “types” may be 
traced not only in the economic field, but also in any other series 
of social phenomena. The type of a society may be inferred 
from its ideology as well as from its economy. Feudal art per- 
mits one to draw conclusions as to feudal conditions of produc- 
tion; feudal conditions of production enable one to make infer- 
ences as to feudal art, or religion, or feudal thinking in general, 
etc., etc. The deciphering of certain literary monuments exca- 
vated by the archzologists enables us to form a picture of the life 
and manners of races that have disappeared. A reading of Ham- 
murabi’s Codex makes the economic life of Babylon live in our 
minds. The Iliad and the Odyssey permit us to form a conception 
of early Greek history, ete. 


234 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


The historical forms of society, the specific nature of these 
forms, are applicable not only to the economic basis, but also to 
the aggregate of social phenomena, for the economic structure also 
determines the political structure and the ideological structure. 
One being given, the other is also given. To be sure, this does 
not mean that a type of society must be so sharply distinguished 
from another as to leave no common traits between them. ‘“Epochs 
in the history of society are no more separated from each other 
by hard and fast lines of demarcation, than are geological peri- 
ods.” #* On the contrary, in actual reality we find that each new 
social type, each new social structure may present very great and 
decisive remnants of the old economic formations. For example, 
we find in modern capitalist society a great number of remnants 
of earlier economic forms. Thus the entire great class of the peas- 
antry, with its economic life, may be considered on the whole as 
a remnant of the feudal ages; the petty artisans likewise, etc. 
“Pure” capitalism implies a bourgeoisie and a proletariat, but not 
a peasantry, not an artisan class, etc. If such “purity” cannot 
be found in the economic structure, it is obvious that there will 
be a certain “mingling of ideas” in the ideological field also. 
Capitalist society may therefore present us with many remnants 
of feudal ideology, for instance, among the landed nobility and 
the peasantry, rural classes that are based on earlier agricultural 
relations, and which still retain certain traditional traits. The 
interweaving of economic forms will be accompanied by an inter- 
weaving of ideological forms, with the result that there never is 
an absolutely uniform “mode of production”, and of course— 
still less—a uniform “mode of conception” (for, the latter varies 
even among the various classes that may at the given moment be 
a part of the same economic structure). It does not follow, how- 
ever, that we cannot and should not distinguish between the vari- 
ous types of production relations. For, in any actually existing 
society, a certain type of production relations is dominant, and 
there is also therefore a certain prevalent “view of life”, Werner 
Sombart is right when he says: “I distinguish a certain epoch 
in the economic life by the predominance of a specific spirit in a 
specific period.” 45 

Marx, speaking of capitalism, likewise terms it “the form of 


44 Marx: Capital, vol. i, p. 405. 
45 Sombart: Der Bourgeois, p. 6. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 235 


society in which capitalist production is predominant”. *® As we 
may distinguish between ape and man in the animal kingdom, in 
spite of their many common traits, so we may distinguish also 
between the various forms of society inspite of their common 
traits; in spite of the fact that the “higher” forms frequently 
present quite useless remnants of older forms (so called “rudi- 
ments”), which are incomprehensible at first sight. 


In chapter iii, we have already spoken of the necessity of distin- 
guishing, in any treatment of society, the social form which is rooted 
in the peculiarities of the economic structure. This conception has 
been vigorously and repeatedly opposed by official bourgeois science, 
which is hostile to the notion of a radical transformation of social 
relations. Bourgeois scholars themselves now admit that the crux of 
the matter is in the above fact. Thus, Dr. Bernhard Odenbreit writes: 
“Marx, as is only natural in the case of a ‘revolutionary’, has a par- 
ticularly sharp eye for the historical, transitory nature of all social 
institutions. This general social understanding is joined with a con- 
sciously critical reflection on the narrower field of political economy” 
(Plenge: Staatswissenschafiliche Bettrage, No. 1; B. Odenbreit: Die 
vergleichende Wirtschaftstheorie bet Karl Marx, Essen-on-Ruhr 1919, 
p. 15). Precisely so! The “sharp eye” for that which is changing 
will be found only in the revolutionary. This is, of course, one of 
the principal reasons for the superiority of the social sciences of the 
revolutionary proletariat over the social sciences of the counter-revo- 
lutionary bourgeoisie. 


In so called primitive communism, the oldest form of society 
known to us, the type of production relations in which the eco- 
nomic “personality” is not yet isolated from the “horde”, we also 
find the corresponding forms of consciousness: absence of religion, 
of ideas of rank, even of the notion of personality, of the indi- 
vidual per se. Similarly, a consideration of so called feudal soci- 
ety shows that its “essential traits consist on the one hand in the 
splitting up of the land into a number of independent estates, 
principalities, and privileged holdings, and on the other hand in 
the organization of these holdings by means of contractual vassal 
relations.” #7 The style of economy is here hierarchic; likewise, the 
style of politics, of the ideology. As we have already seen, the 
notion of rank is everywhere prevalent. The basis is the large 
landed estate (nulle terre sans seigneur, “no land without its mas- 
ter”), inert and uneventful. The economic bonds are bonds be- 
tween feudal landowners and serfs; these relations are stable 


46 Marx: Theorien iiber den Mehrwert, Stuttgart, 1910, vol. i, p. 424. 


47N. P. Silvansky: Feudalism in Ancient Russia, St. Petersburg, 1907 (in 
Russian), p. 45. 


236 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


immobile, and—from the point of view of the members of feudal 
society—immutable; everything is “fixed” in its place in the 
hierarchic order. Let the shoemaker stick to his last! The same 
condition was reflected in the political superstructure that was 
expressive of these production conditions. 

“The hierarchic tendency of feudal life was elevated by the 
learned jurists of the Thirteenth Century into a theory and a 
system. . . .48 The preachers have a clear vision of the horizontal 
distribution of society as a whole, even though it be divided into 
masters and servants. The latter are admonished to follow the 
words of the apostle commanding slaves to obey their masters, 
since God has installed kings and dukes on earth, and other men 
in order that the latter might obey the former. God so disposed 
things as to enable the weak to depend on the strong.” *#° The entire 
conception of life is religious, 7.e., permeated with the notion of 
rank, or, to use another term, it is authoritarian. Its rigidity, its 
fidelity to tradition, are a natural result. Science consists chiefly 
in interpreting tradition and the Sacred Scriptures; art is “divine”, 
magnifying in its form and content the “higher” celestial and 
terrestrial powers; the dominant morality and the dominant man- 
ners and morals are those inculcated by feudal fidelity, noble 
arrogance, pious awe of the commandments of ancestors, respect 
for “gentle bearing” and “gentle lineage”. Quod licet Jovi, non 
licet bovi. In other words, we are here dealing with a specific 
social “species’, a specific form of society, beginning with tts 
material basis, and rising to the “highest” forms of social con- 
SCLOUSNESS. 

Let us now consider capitalist society, whose economic basis 
is an entirely different type of relations. “The contrast between 
the power, based on the personal relations of dominion and servi- 
tude, that is conferred by landed property, and the impersonal 
power that is given by money, is well expressed by the two French 
proverbs, Nulle terre sans seigneur, and L’argent n’a pas de 
maitre.” °° Tn this sentence, Marx has revealed one of the funda- 
mental relations in capitalist society, namely, the connection be- 
tween the various enterprises through the market, whence results 
also the impersonal power of this market and the impersonal, 


#8 The author is speaking of feudalism in Western Europe. N. B. 

491. P. Karsavin: The Civilization of the Middle Ages, Petrograd, 1918 
(in Russian), p. 90. 

50 Marx, Capital, vol. i, Chicago, 1915, p. 163, footnote. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 237 


“abstract” power of money. But there is another phase also: the 
impersonal, social power of money turned to capital nevertheless 
finds its master, in so far as a simple commodities production is 
transformed into a capitalistic production. 

“Just as every qualitative difference between commodities is 
extinguished in money, so money, on its side, like the radical 
leveler that it is, does away with all distinctions. But money itself 
is a commodity, an external object, capable of becoming the pri- 
vate property of any individual. Thus social power becomes the 
private power of private persons.” ®* From this follows another 
trait in the economy of capitalist society, namely, its hierarchic 
character. This trait has also been brilliantly outlined by Marx, 
particularly in his chapter on cooperation °?: “The control of the 
capitalist is ...in form... despotic. As cooperation extends 
its scale, this despotism takes forms peculiar to itself. Just as at 
first the capitalist is relieved from actual labor so soon as his 
capital has reached that minimum amount with which capitalist 
production, as such, begins, so now he hands over the work of 
direct and constant supervision of individual workmen, and groups 
all workmen into a special kind of wage laborer. An industrial 
army of workmen, under the command of a capitalist, requires, 
like a real army, officers (managers), and sergeants (foremen, 
overlookers), who, while the work is being done, command in the 
name of the capitalist. The work of supervision becomes their 
established and exclusive function.” 

The capitalist mode of production is therefore twofold in char- 
acter: on the one hand, it is the summation of the individual 
private economies, “enterprises”, united by the anarchic bond of 
the market, through exchange, the blind elemental force of the 
market controlling each individual economy; on the other hand, 
it is a hierarchic system, with “capital in command”. Naturally, 
this mode of production has also produced its corresponding view 
of life. Its “style” must reflect its twofold nature. And indeed, 
“the view of life” of capitalist society is characterized on the one 
hand by what Marx terms the fetishism of commodities, and on 
the other hand by the principle of rank, which we have already 
observed in feudal society. The combination of these two “for- 
mative principles” results in the fundamental style of the “view 
of life’ prevalent in the capitalist world. 


51 Capital, vol. i, pp. 148, 149. 
52 Capital, vol. i, p. 364. 


238 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


We must now define the fetishism of commodities. In a society 
of commodities capitalism, the enterprise works “independently” 
for an unknown market. But each labor here constitutes a section 
of the social labor, all the sections being mutually dependent; but 
the social relation between men, actually at work for each other, 
is concealed to the eye. If we were dealing with a socialist 
economy in which all things proceed according to plan, it would 
be perfectly clear at first glance that men are working for each 
other, that each individual type of labor is merely a section of 
the general social labor, etc. The relations between men would 
then be clear, the mists dispelled. But the case in the capitalist 
world is quite different. Here the labor relation between men is 
invisible, being concealed by the manipulations of the market, 
where commodities are shifted, sold and bought. The market is 
not rationally controlled by men, but, through its prices, controls 
men. Men observe the movements of commodities without under- 
standing that they. are working for each other, all men being 
related by the common labor bond. The latter appears to them 
as a specific miraculous power of commodities, as a “value” of 
these commodities. Relations between men present themselves 
as relations between commodities. That is what we mean by the 
fetishism of commodities, the ascribing to commodities of quali- 
ties truly inherent in human labor. This fetishism, which causes 
“a definite social relation between men... to assume in their 
eyes the fantastic form of a relation between things”,®* constitutes 
the peculiar earmark of the capitalist “view of life’. We have 
already observed that bourgeois scholars, artists, philosophers, etc., 
are irritated by discussions concerning the social roots of science, 
art, or philosophy. They are out and out fetishists, for they dis- 
regard the social connections, being unable to conceive of their 
inspired, divine labor as merely a portion of the total social labor. 


The fetishism of the capitalist world is very graphically indicated 
in the field of the so called moral standards, of “ethics,” a favorite 
topic with the learned professors. We have already ascertained that 
the ethical norms are the rules of conduct for the preservation of the 
society, or of the class, or of the vocational group, etc. They have a 
necessary, social, service significance. Yet, in fetishistic society, this 
human and social significance of standards is not recognized. On the 
contrary, these standards, 1.e., the technical rules of conduct, appear 
as a “duty”, dwelling far above men, like any other external divine 
compulsion. This inevitable fetishism of ethics is excellently expressed 


53 Marx: Capital, vol. i, p. 83. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 239 


by the bourgeois philosophic genius, Immanuel Kant, in his doctrine 
of the “categorical imperative”. 

The proletariat must approach the question from a different angle 
The proletariat must not preach a capitalistic fetishism. For the pro- 
letariat, the standards of its conduct are technical rules in precisely 
the sense of the rules according to which a joiner constructs an arm- 
chair. The latter, wishing to construct an armchair, will plane, saw, 
glue, etc., which acts are involved in the labor process itself. He will 
not interpret the rules of woodworking as something foreign to him, 
of supernatural origin, whose victim he is. The attitude of the pro- | 
letariat in its social struggle is precisely the same. If it would attain 
communism, it must do this and that, as the joiner at work on his 
armchair. And everything required, from this point of view, must be 
done. “Ethics” will ultimately, in the case of the proletariat, be trans- 
formed into simple and easily understood technical rules of conduct, 
such as are required for communism, and thus it will really cease to 
be ethics at all. For the essence of ethics is in the fact that it involves 
norms enveloped in a fetishistic raiment. Fetishism is the essence of 
ethics; where fetishism disappears, ethics also will disappear. For 
instance, no one would think of designating the constitution of a con- 
sumer’s store or of a party as “ethical” or “moral”, for anyone can 
see the human significance of these things. Ethics, on the other hand, 
presupposes a fetishistic mist, which turns the heads of many persons. 
The proletariat needs rules of conduct, and it needs to have them very 
clear, but it has no need of “ethics”, t.e., a fetishistic sauce to flavor 
the meal. Of course, it is obvious that the proletariat will not at once 
succeed in liberating itself from the fetishism of the commodities 
society in which it lives; but that is another question. 


The fetishism of the ideology of capitalism and commodities is 
merged with the principle of “rank”, and these two fundamental 
formative principles constitute the nucleus of the capitalist mode 
of thought, the framework for the ideological material. Capitalist 
society is thus a special type of society, with special characteristic 
traits in all the “levels” of social life, up to the highest ideological 
superstructure. The type of economic structure, therefore, also 
determines the type of the social-political structure and of the 
ideological structure. Society has a basic “style” in all the domi- 
nant phenomena of its life. 


j. The Contradictory Character of Evolution; External and 
Internal Equilibrium of Society 


We have examined above the phenomena of social equilibrium; 
but we must not lose sight of the fact that we are dealing with a 
mobile equilibrium, 7.e., a situation in which equilibrium is being 
constantly disturbed, then reestablished on an altered basis, then 
again disturbed. We are dealing, in other words, with a process 
of contradictions, not of rest; we are not discussing a condition 


240 — HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of absolute adjustment, but a struggle between opposites, a dialectic 
process of motion. In considering the structure of society, 1.¢., 
the mutual relation between its parts, we may not conceive of this 
relation as a perfect harmony between these parts. Every struc- 
ture involves internal contradictions; in every social class form, 
these contradictions are very sharp. Bourgeois sociologists, while 
recognizing the mutual relation of the various social phenomena, 
do not understand the internal oppositions of the social forms. 
In this respect, the entire school founded by the originator of 
bourgeois sociology, Auguste Comte, is very interesting. Comte 
recognizes the relation between all the social phenomena (the so 
called “consensus’) in which its “order” is expressed. But the 
contradictions within this “order”, particularly such as lead to its 
inevitable destruction, do not receive his attention. On the other 
hand, for the advocates of dialectic materialism, this phase is one 
of the most essential, perhaps the most essential phase. For, as we 
have seen, the contradictions in any given system are precisely the 
“moving” element, leading to an alteration of forms, to a char- 
acteristic transformation of species in the process of social evo- 
lution or social decline. 

In our consideration of the social structure, we have seen that 
its alterations are closely connected with the alterations in the 
relation between society and nature. The latter equilibrium we 
have designated as an external equilibrium, while the equilibrium 
_ between the various series of social phenomena has been called 
_ the internal equilibrium of society. If we now regard all of society 
from the point of view of a contradictory evolution, we are at 
once faced with a number of questions: in the first place, we shall 
find the existence of contradictions within each series of social 
phenomena (for example, in economy, the contradictions between 
the various labor functions; in the social-political structure, the 
contradictions between classes; in ideology, contradictions between 
the ideological systems of the classes, etc., not to mention many 
other contradictions); we shall find also, without difficulty, the 
contradictions between economy and politics (for instance, when 
legal standards have been outdistanced by the economic evolution, 
and a “reform” becomes mature) ; between economy and ideology; 
and between psychology and ideology (for instance, the need of 
something new is felt, but the new has not yet been expressed in 
ideological form) ; between science and philosophy, etc. These are 
contradictions between the series of the various social phenomena. 


EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN SOCIAL ELEMENTS 241 


Both elements are a necessary part of the internal equilibrium; 
but there is a contradiction between society and nature, a distur- 
bance of equilibrium between society and its environment, which 
finds its expression in the movement of the productive forces. This 
is the field of external equilibrium. Of course, there is another 
extremely important case of contradiction, namely, that between 
the movement of the productive forces and the social-economic 
structure of society (and all the rest of the social structure). 

In this case, the relation obtaining between society and nature 
comes in conflict with the relations developed within society. 
Obviously, this conflict, this contradiction, must play a very im- 
portant role in the life of society, for it concerns the bases of the 
existing “order”, the “pillars” on which the given order rests. 

We have here sketched only the principal questions involved in 
the social contradictions, the investigation of which is to be the 
subject of the next chapter, which will deal with society in motion. 
Thus far, we have considered chiefly the structure of society, of 
the given social form. We shall now undertake a treatment of 
the transitions from one structure to another. Again we emphasize 
that the law of social equilibrium is a law of mobile equilibrium, 
that includes antagonisms, contradictions, incompatibilities, con- 
flicts, struggles, and—this is particularly important—that it cannot 
dispense, under certain circumstances, with catastrophes and revo- 
lutions, which are absolutely inevitable. Our Marxian theory is 
the revolutionary theory. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Karl Marx: Capital, particularly vol. i. Kautsky: Introduction (in 
German) to Salvioli’s Le Capitalisme dans le monde antique. Lenin: 
State and Revolution. Friedrich Engels: The Origin of the Family, 
Private Property, and the State. Alexandrov: State, Bureaucracy, 
Absolutism (in Russian). Korsak: The Society of Law and the 
Society of Labor, in Outlines of the Realistic World-Conception 
(in Russian). Kautsky: Ethics and the Materialistic Conception of 
History. Kautsky: Foundations of Christianity (New York, Interna- 
tonal Publishers, 1925). Stepanov’s essays on religion (in Russian). 
Pokrovsky: Geschichte der russischen Kultur. Friedrich Engels: Uber | 
den historischen Materialismus. Plekhanov’s essays on art; the studies 
(in Russian) of A. V. Lunacharsky, P. S. Kohan, V. M. Fritsche. K. 
Biicher: Arbeit und Rhythmus. B. Odenbreit: Die vergleichende 
Wirtschaftstheorie bet Karl Marx (a good compilatior of quotations 
from Marx on the types of societies). A. Bogdanov: Short Outline 
of Ideological Science (in Russian). Cunow: Ursprung der Religion. 
Cunow: Die Marxsche Geschichts-, Gesellschafts- und Staatstheorie 
(vol. i and ii). 


VII. DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT OF 
SOCIAL EQUILIBRIUM 


a. The Process of Social Changes and the Productive Forces 


THE process of social changes is closely connected with changes 
in the condition of the productive forces. This movement of the 
productive forces, and the movement and regrouping of all social 
elements, involved in it, is nothing more nor less than a process 
of constant, disturbance of social equilibrium, followed by reestab- 
lishments of equilibrium. Indeed, a progressive movement of the 
productive forces implies above all that a contradiction has arisen 
between the social technique and the social economy: the system 
loses its equilibrium. The productive forces have increased to a 
certain extent; a certain regrouping of persons must be under- 
taken, for otherwise there is no equilibrium, 7.¢., the system cannot 
permanently endure in its present form. This contradiction is 
eliminated by means of the following regrouping of men: economy 
“adapts itself” to the condition of the productive forces, to the 
social technology. But the regrouping of persons in the economic 
apparatus also implies a necessary regrouping of persons in the 
social-political structure of society (a different combination of 
parties, a different alignment of the forces of the parties, etc.). 
Furthermore, the same condition necessarily demands a change in 
legal, moral, and all other standards. For the contradiction can 
be solved only in this way, or, what amounts to the same thing, 
the equilibrium between the system of persons and the system of 
standards cannot be reestablished in any other way. The same is 
true also of the entire psychology of society, as well as of its 
ideology. G. V. Plekhanov has brilliantly stated this: “The origin, 
change, and destruction of the association of ideas, under the 
influence of the origin, change and destruction of certain combi- 
nations of social forces, to a predominant extent explain the history 
of ideology.”’1 The new “combination”, i.e., the new relation 
between persons, comes in conflict with the old combination (the 


1N. Beltov (Plekhanov) : Concerning the Materialistic Interpretation of 
History, in Criticism of Our Critics, p. 333. The italics are mine. N. B. 
242 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 243 


old associations of ideas). This means a destruction of the internal 
equilibrium, which is reestablished on a new basis, a new “com- 
bination” of ideas originates, 7.e., where there is an adaptation on 
the part of the social psychology and the: social ideology, which 
equilibrium is again disturbed, etc., etc. 

We now encounter a problem that is of immense theoretical and 
practical significance. 

We may conceive of the restoration of social equilibrium as 
proceeding in either of two ways: that of a gradual adaptation 
of the various elements in the social whole (evolution), and that 
of violent upheaval (revolution). We have seen from history 
that revolutions do sometimes occur; they are historical facts. It 
will be interesting to learn under what circumstances the adapta- 
tion of the various elements of society proceeds by evolution, and 
under what circumstances by revolution. 

This will involve a discussion of a number of other questions 
concerning the dynamics of society. We know, for instance, that 
any given society is constantly undergoing change, experiencing 
internal regroupings, alterations of form and content, etc. We 
know that this process is connected with the evolution of the pro- 
ductive forces. But we sometimes witness changes within the 
limits of the identical social-economic structure; and, at other 
times, a transition from one “species” of society to another, the 
substitution of one “mode of production” for another “mode of 
production”. When will the one result, and when the other? 

A general description of the process of social evolution is given 
by Marx in his A Contribution to the Critique of Political 
Economy: 

“At a certain stage of their development, the material forces of 
production in society come in conflict with the existing relations 
in production, or—what is but a legal expression for the same 
thing—with the property relations within which they had been at 
work before. From forms of development of the forces of pro- 
duction these relations turn into their fetters. Then comes the 
period of social revolution. With the change of the economic 
foundation the entire immense superstructure is more or lesg 
rapidly transformed. In considering such transformations, the 
- distinction should always be made between the material trans. 
formation of the economic conditions of production which can be 
determined with the precision of natural science, and the legal, 
political, religious, esthetic. or philosophic—in short, ideological— 


\ 


244. HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


forms in which men become conscious of this conflict and fight 
it out. Just as our opinion of an individual is not based on what 
he thinks of himself, so can we not judge of such a period of trans- 
formation by its own consciousness; on the contrary, this con- 
sciousness must rather be explained from the contradictions of 
material life, from the existing conflict between the social forces 
of production and the relations of production” (A Contribution 
to the Critique of Political Economy, New York, 1904, p. 12). 

Marx therefore conceives of revolution as intervening when the 
equilibrium between the productive forces of society and the 
foundations of its economic structure is disturbed; such is the 
content of the conflict solved by revolution; this, of course, means 
the transition from one form to another. But so long as the 
economic structure still permits the productive forces to evolve, 
the social changes will not take the form of San we shall 
here find evolution instead. 

This question will be taken up in detail later, but we shall now 
emphasize the following point. According to Marx, the cause of 
revolution is not at all to be sought in a collision between economy 
and law, as many critics of Marxism maintain, but in a collision 
between the productive forces and economy, which is quite a dif- 
ferent matter, as will be shown in the sequel. 


b. The Productive Forces and the Social-Economic Structure 


We have stated that the cause of revolution, of a violent transi- 
tion from one type to another, must be sought in a conflict pro- 
ceeding between the productive forces, and their growth, on the 
one hand, and the economic structure of society, 1.e., the produc- 
tion relations, on the other hand. The following objection might 
be raised: since the evolution of the production relations is con- 
ditioned by the movement of the productive forces, is not the 
constant alteration of the production relations in itself a result of 
the conflict between the productive forces and the antiquated pro- 
duction relations? If we take the example of the growth of pro- 
ductive forces in capitalistic society, we shall find that this growth 
has involved extensive regrouping of persons in the economic 
process. The old middle class melted away, the artisan class dis- 
appeared, the proletariat increased, great enterprises grew up. The 
human network of production was constantly changing. Further- 
more, did not one form of capitalism lead into another; for in- 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 24.5 


stance, was not industrial capitalism followed by financial capi- 
talism, entirely without revolution? Yet, all these changes were 
the expression of a constant disturbance of equilibrium (a con- 
flict) between the productive forces and the production relations. 
While the productive forces were growing, they collided with the 
petty artisan conditions; this was a disturbance of equilibrium; 
the economy of the artisan was no longer compatible with the 
increasing technique. The lost equilibrium was again and again 
restored, already on a new basis, for the new economy was also 
increased, corresponding to the new technique. It therefore 
obviously follows that not every conflict between the productive 
forces and the production relations results in revolution, that the 
case is much more complicated than that. To determine which 
kinds of conflict produce a revolutionary crisis we must take up 
an analysis of the various kinds of production relations. 

Production relations are, of course, all kinds of relations between 
persons, arising in the process of the social economic life, 7.e., in 
the production process, which also includes the distribution of 
means of production, as well as in the process of the distribution 
of products. Of course, these production relations are of many 
kinds: a broker in Paris, who buys shares of a New York trust, 
is thus assuming a certain production relation to the workers and 
owners, the superintendents and engineers, of the factories be- 
longing to this trust. The banker who employs bookkeepers stands 
in a certain production relation with them. Likewise, the joiner 
has certain production relations with the lathe-workers in the same 
factory, or with the fish-wife from whom he buys a herring, or 
with the foreman above him, But the same joiner also has certain 
relations with the fisherman who catches the herring, with the 
weaver who is one of the many persons concerned in the manu- 
facture of his trousers, etc., etc. In short, we have a truly endless 
quantity of different and varied production relations, distinct from 
each other according to the type of relation. Our task therefore 
will be to differentiate between the various species of these rela- 
tions, and to determine what is the species of production relations 
in which a conflict would lead to revolution. 

In order to have a sound actual basis for our answer, we must 
_ learn how revolutions have actually operated, 1.e., in what manner 
they have solved the contradiction between the evolution of the 
productive forces and the economic basis of society. To be sure, 
this conflict has always been waged by men; the class struggle 


246 — HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


has been a hard one. What has been the outcome of the victorious 
revolution? First, a different political power. Second, a different 
place of classes in the process of production, a different distribu- 
tion of instruments of production, which, as we know, are directly 
connected with the situation of the classes. In other words, the 
struggle during a revolution is waged for the control of the most 
important instruments of production, which in a class society are 
in the hands of a class which consolidates its rule over things, and, 
through them, over persons, by the additional power of its state 
organization. This leads us to the decisive point in our search 
for those production relations that require a revolution for their 
destruction, in order that society may continue to develop its pro- 
ductive forces. In the Third Volume of Capital, Marx categori- 
cally states the problem of the form of society and points out the 
fundamental, specific element in the total phenomenon of the pro- 
ductive relations: “The specific economic form, in which unpaid 
surplus labor is pumped out of the direct producers, determines 
the relations of rulers and ruled, as it grows immediately out of 
production itself and reacts upon it as a determining element. 
Upon this is founded the entire formation of the economic com- 
munity which grows up out of the conditions of production itself, 
and this also determines its specific political shape. It is always 
the direct relation of the owners of the conditions of production 
to the direct producers, which reveals the innermost secret, the 
hidden foundation of the entire social construction, and with it of 
the political form of the relations between sovereignty and depend- 
ence, in short, of the corresponding form of the state.’? The 
matter therefore stands as follows: among all the varied produc- 
tion relations, one type of such relations stands foremost, namely, 
the type that is expressive of the relations between the classes 
which hold the principal means of production in their hands, and 
the other classes which hold either subsidiary means or no such 
means at all. The class that is dominant in economy will also be 
dominant in politics and will politically fortify the specific type of 
production relations which will give security to the process of 
exploitation operating in favor of this class. “Politics,” to use 
the expression found in one of the resolutions of the Ninth Con- 
gress of the Russian Communist Party, “is the concentrated ex- 
pression of economy.” 

The same thing may be stated in somewhat different words. 


? Karl Marx: Capital, vol. iii, Chicago, 1909, p. 919. My italics. N. B. 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 247 


We have observed that not all the production relations are here 
concerned, but only the economic domination supported by a specific 
relation to things, to instruments of production. In the language 
of the jurists, we are concerned here with fundamental “property 
relations’, with relations of class property in the instruments of 
production. These property relations are identical with the funda- 
mental production relations; they are merely another way of say- 
ing the same thing, legally this time, instead of economically. And 
these relations are now associated also with the political domina- 
tion of the specific class; they are maintained by this domination, 
fortified and extended at any price. 

Within this frame, all possible variations of “evolutionary 
nature” may take place; but we may pass beyond the frame only 
with the aid of a revolutionary upheaval. For example: within 
the limits of capitalist property relations, artisan trades may perish, 
new forms of capitalist enterprises may originate, capitalist organ- 
izations of unheard-of varieties may spring into being; individual 
members of the bourgeois classes may become bankrupt; individual 
members of the working class may become petty or even large- 
Scale industrialists; new social strata (for instance, the so called 
“new middle class”, 7.e., “the technical mental workers”) may grow 
up. But the working class cannot become the owner of the means 
of production, nor can it (or its representatives) secure command 
of production, or dispose of the most important instruments of 
production. In other words: however much the production rela- 
tions may shift under the influence of the increasing productive 
forces, their fundamental character remains the same. If this 
fundamental character should come in conflict with the productive 
forces, it will break up. This is revolution, which affords a transi- 
tion to another form of society. “To the extent that the labor 
process is a simple process between man and nature, its simple 
elements remain the same in all social forms of development. But 
every definite historical form of this process develops more and 
more its material foundations and social forms. Whenever a cer- 
tain maturity is reached, one definite social form is discarded and 
displaced by a higher one. The time for the coming of such a 
crisis is announced by the depth and breadth of the contradictions 
and antagonisms which separate the conditions of distribution, 
and with them the definite historical form of the corresponding 
conditions of production, from the productive forces, the produc- 
tivity, and development of their agencies. A conflict then arises 


248 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


between the material development of production, and its social 
form.” ® 

Revolution therefore occurs when there is an outright conflict 
between the increased productive forces, which can no longer be 
housed within the envelope of the production relations, and which 
constitutes the fundamental web of these production relations, 1.e., 
property relations, ownership in the instruments of production. 
This envelope is then burst asunder. 

It is easy to see why this should be the case, why precisely these 
production relations should constitute the most immutable, the most 
conservative form: for they are the expression of the economic 
monopoly rule of a class, as affirmed and expressed in its political 
domination. And, of course, it is only natural that such an “en- 
velope”’ as would express the fundamental interests of the class, 
would be held together by this class to the bitter end, while altera- 
tions within the envelope, not disturbing the essential bases of the 
existing society, mayeand do proceed rather painlessly. It follows, 
among other things, that there are no “purely political” revolutions: 
every revolution is a social (class-displacing) revolution; and 
every social revolution is a political revolution. For the produc- 
tion relations cannot be overturned without also upsetting the 
political congelation of these relations; on the other hand, if the 
political power is broken, this also means the destruction of the 
domination of this class in economy, for “politics is the concen- 
trated expression of economy”. Some persons consider that the 
French Revolution differs from the Russian Revolution in the 
sense that the former was a political revolution and the latter a 
social revolution. For, in the Bolshevik Revolution, politics and 
political changes did not play a greater rdle than in the French 
Revolution, while the alterations in the production relations were 
incomparably greater. 

This “objection” is merely a confirmation of the statements we 
have made above. Let us consider this question of the political 
phase. We all know that during the French Revolution the power 
passed from the hands of one set of owners into the hands of 
another set. The bourgeoisie destroyed the feudal commercial 
state and organized the state of the bourgeoisie. In Russia, on 
the other hand, the organization of all owners was swept away. 
The political upheaval went far deeper, corresponding to the deeper 


penetration of the displacement of the production relations (na- — 


8 Karl Marx: Capital, vol. iii, Chicago, 1909, p. 1030. 


ar 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 249 


tionalization of industry, abolition of landed estates, beginnings 
of the socialist order of society, etc.). 

Therefore: the cause of revolutions is the conflict between the 
productive forces and the productive relations, as solidified in the 
political organization of the ruling class. These production rela- 
tions are so emphatic a brake on the evolution of the productive 
forces that they simply must be broken up tf society is to continue 
to develop. If they cannot be burst asunder, they will prevent and 
stifle the unfolding of the productive forces, and the entire society 
will become stagnant or retrogressive, 1.e., 1¢ will enter upon a 
period of decay. 


From the above remarks, the reader will understand why society was 
able to transform itself, for instance, from the primitive communist 
condition, by way of evolution, into a patriarchal society, and then into 
a feudal society. Under primitive communism, there was no class 
rule over the means of production and no political power for the pro- 
tection of such a rule. On the contrary, such rule, as well as the use 
of force, grew up by evolutionary process from the primitive com-. 
munist production relations, owing to the growth of private property, 
etc. The productive forces expanded, accompanied by an increasing 
differentiation, an increasing experience on the part of the eldest of 
the clan, the development of private property, a segregation of the 
ruling class thus formed. Formerly, there had been no ruling class, 
no ruling power; therefore, there was nothing to be destroyed; there- 
fore, the transition took place without a revolution. 

H. Cunow, who in his two-volume work reduces Marx to an inno- 
cent liberal lamb, writes the following concerning revolution: “When 
Marx, accordingly, speaks in the above sentence of social conditions 
and social revolution (in his Critique of Political Economy. N. B.), he 
does not mean, as is suggested by others, a political fight for power, 
but the transformation of the social conditions of life following upon 
the blossoming forth of a new and altered mode of production. . 
According to Marx’s view, an alteration in the mode of production, par- 
ticularly if the state government should seek to maintain by force the 
antiquated laws corresponding to an older stage in the economic rela- 
tions, may lead to a political revolution or eruption of the masses of 
the people; but this need not necessarily be the case. The upheaval 
of the political and social conditions of life, as well as the ideologies, 
brought about by a change in the economic structure, may be achieved 
gradually without uprisings and street battles (for instunce, by parlia- 
mentary methods).” (Heinrich Cunow: Die Marsche Geschichts- 
Gesellschafts- und Staatstheorie, Berlin 1921, vol. ii, p. 315). The 
above quotations from the honorable Social-Democratic professor are 
a horrible example of the mental confusion of a vulgar-liberal eclectic. 
In fact, in the:sentence in which Marx speaks of revolution, he con- 
sidered its cause to be, as we have seen, the conflict between the pro- 
ductive forces and the production relations. The revolutionary solution 
of this conflict is precisely the breakdown of the production relations 
and the state forms expressing them. But in Cunow’s mind, the new 
mode of production arises ready-made, Lord knows whence ‘and how, 


250 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


perhaps later (!) leading to a political revolution. This is so gorgeous, 
so “brilliant,” that it is hard to keep up with it. Cunow considers the 
case of socialism somewhat as follows: capitalism will be peaceably 
succeeded by the socialist mode of production; the capitalists in the 
government will observe this miracle and marvel thereat; and then 
they will begin, by the use of force (or perhaps without the use of 
force) to battle against the alterations already accomplished in the 
mode of production (1.e., they will begin—if we may put it thus—to 
demand their profits, which everyone has been forgetting). Then, not 
until then, an indignant nation, fighting behind barricades, will drive 
them out. This is a fine cartoon for a humorous weekly, but hardly 
material for a learned work. Cunow provides us with a great accumu- 
lation of erroneous views. In the first place, the essence of the con- 
flict is not properly formulated (Cunow is here copying from Mr. P. 
Struve, whose article in Braun’s Archiv was brilliantly annihilated by 
G. V. Plekhanov years ago); in the second place, the actual phases 
of the revolutionary process are entirely distorted; in the third place, 
revolution itself disappears altogether from revolution. What is a 
revolution which does not even involve a political upheaval? The 
preceding alteration in the mode of production here does not operate 
catastrophically, but quite cautiously; it is reflected in politics by 
parliamentary manipulations; that is all. Herr Cunow here relin- 
quishes the Marxian theory as thoroughly and shamelessly as he has 
been relinquishing Marxian practice in the latter years. And this, at 
a time when even the stupidest bourgeois professors seem inclined to 
regard revolutions as phenomena which constantly arise, with a sort 
of inner necessity, from a given condition of society. (Cf. Schriften 
der deutschen Gesellschaft fiir Politik an der Universitat Halle-Wit- 
tenberg, ed. by Prof. H. Waentig, No. 1: Die grossen Revolutionen 
als Entwicklungserscheinungen 1m Leben der Volker.) 

A brief examination of the causes of revolutions will be illuminating. 
The bourgeois revolutions (the English Revolution of the Seventeenth 
Century, the French Revolution at the end of the Eighteenth) have 
been excellently characterized—in a few lines—by Marx: “The revolu- 
tions of 1648 and 1789 were not mere English or French revolutions, 
but revolutions on a European scale. They were not a victory of a 
specific class of society over the old political order; they were the 
announcement of the political order of the new European society (1.e., 
the new production relations. N. B.). In them the bourgeoisie was 
victorious; but the victory of the bourgeoisie then meant the victory 
of the new order of society of bourgeois property over feudal prop- 
erty, of nationality over provincialism, of competition over the guild, 
of division (of the soil. N. B.) over the right of primogeniture, of 
domination by the owner of the soil over domination of the owner 
by the soil, of industry over magnificent idling, of bourgeois justice 
over medieval privileges” (Marx: Aus dem literarischen Nachlass, vol. 
iii, Stuttgart 1920, pp. 211, 212). In the period of bourgeois revolution, 
the chief obstacles to development were the following production rela- 
tions: first, feudal ownership of land; second, the guild system in the 
rising industry; third, trade monopoly, perpetuating the whole by means 
of countless legal standards. The private ownership of property by the 
landholders led to countless imposts; most peasants were obliged to pay 
a “hunger rent,” and the internal market for industry was extremely 
limited. In order that industry might develop, the feudal ownership 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 251 


laws had first to be broken. “The rents,” says Thorold Rogers (in The 
Economic Interpretation of History, London, 1891, Fisher Unwin, p. 
174), speaking of English rents in the Seventeenth Century, “began as 
competitive rents and are rapidly transformed into hunger-rents, by 
which I mean such rents as leave the tenant a bare subsistence, with the 
result that he is enabled neither to save nor to undertake improvements” 
(quoted by Eduard Bernstein, in Sozialismus und Demokratie in der 
grossen englischen Revolution, Stuttgart 1908, p. 10). 

In France, before the Revolution, ‘the people languished under the 
burden of taxes raised by the state, of duties paid to the landowner, 
of the tithes for the clergy, and compulsory service for all three. In 
every province, you could observe hosts of five thousand, ten thousand, 
of twenty thousand persons, men, women, children, wandering about 
on the roads. In 1777 an official estimate placed the number of beg- 
gars at I,100,000; famine was chronic in the villages, recurring at 
frequent intervals and devastating entire provinces. Peasants deserted 
their villages in great numbers, etc.” (P. Kropotkin: The Great French 
Revolution, London, 1921, p. 16). Taxes and tributes were of infinite 
“number and variety (ibid., p. 36 et seq., also Luchitski: The Condition 
of the Agricultural Classes in France on the Eve of the Revolution, 
and the Agrarian Reform of 1789-1793, Kiev 1912, in Russian). All 
of these were different manifestations and expressions of feudal land- 
ownership. Property in land, which reduced the peasants to mendi- 
cants, simultaneously prevented the growth of industry, gave clear evi- 
dence of its retarding effect on the productive forces in Russia also. 
(Starvation rents, impoverishment of the peasantry, insignificant do- 
mestic markets, etc.-—this combination was also the main cause of the 
Revolution of 1905. S. Maslov: Die Agrarfrage in Russland, Stutt- 
gart 1907; also, Lenin’s essays: On the Agrarian Question in Russia, 
in Russian. 

The Guild organization of industry retarded the growth of the pro- 
ductive forces at every step; for instance, in English history there was 
not only a seven-year apprenticeship, but also a rule permitting mer- 
chants and masters in many branches of production to employ only 
the sons of freemen, having a certain amount of land, as apprentices. 
A system of petty regulations prevailed. Naturally, in view of the 
general dispersion of production, there was no possibility of a planful 
economy. On the other hand, this type of production relations was a 
frightful hindrance to all personal initiative. Technical progress had 
no possibilities of growth. The machine was considered a menace. 
Trade monopoly was also a heavy burden, likewise the immense un- 
productive national expenditures. This system as a whole therefore 
constituted a burden which had to be eliminated under the slogan of 
“liberty” (particularly the economic liberty to buy, sell and exploit). 
Of course, before this system of production relations finally perished, 
new production relations, expressive of the growth of the productive 
forces, had undermined this growth, but they could not expand fast 
enough, they could not maintain themselves as the dominant system of 
such relations. This period was the period of the dying feudal society, 
' its social expression was in “unsuccessful” uprisings, insurrections, 
etc.; such were, for instance, the peasant wars and rebellions. In 
England, we have Wat Tyler’s Rebellion, “chiefly a protest by the 
English peasantry against the feudal order in the social and economic 
sense” (D. Petrushevsky: Wat Tyler’s Rebellion, Moscow 1914, in 


252 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


Russian, Introduction). Professor Petrushevsky neatly characterizes 
this period in the following generalization: “The disintegration of 
English feudalism in its final form, achieved in the Thirteenth Cen- 
tury, proceeded side by side with the disintegration of the economic 
bases from which it grew. This disintegration resulted from the eco- 
nomic evolution of English society, its gradual transition from a closed 
system of economy in kind to a money economy, a political-economy 
organization” (ibid., p. 19). 

Turning now to the proletarian revolution, 7.e., the transition from 
the capitalist form of society to socialism (ultimately evolving into 
communism), we shall again find that the principal cause for this 
transition is the conflict between the evolution of the productive forces 
and the capitalist production relations: ‘“The monopoly of capital (1.e., 
the privileged position of the capitalist class with regard to the means 
of production. N. B.) becomes a fetter upon the means of production, 
which has sprung up and flourished along with, and under it. Cen- 
tralization of the means of production and socialization of labor at 
last reach a point where they become incompatible with their capi- 
talist integument. This integument bursts asunder. The knell of 
capitalist private property sounds. The expropriators are expropriated” 
(Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i, p. 837). Marx’s remarks mean this: the 
growth of the productive forces is above all an immense increase and 
centralization of technical tools, machines, apparatus, instruments of 


production in general. This growth involves also a corresponding - 


regrouping of men. Jn part, this occurs in the sense that the cen- 
tralization of instruments of production leads to a centralization of 
the labor forces, or, as Marx puts it, to a socialization of labor. But 
this is not sufficient to bring about an internal equilibrium of society. 
The evolution of the productive forces requires planful relations, 7.e., 
consciously regulated production relations. But herein lies the chief 
obstacle in the capitalist structure: legally speaking, in the private 
property of capitalists, or in a collective capitalist property, held by 
national capitalist groups. If the productive forces are to develop, 
the capitalist integument must be broken through, namely, the prop- 
erty relations of capitalism, those basic production relations that are 
legally expressed in capitalist property and politically perpetuated in 
the state organization of capital. This fundamental contradiction may 
express itself in various ways. Thus, the World War was an expres- 
sion of this contradiction. The productive forces of world economy 
“demand” a world regulation; the ‘‘national-capitalist integument” is 
too tight; this leads to war; war leads to a disturbance of the social 
equilibrium, etc. The trustified form of capitalism, the artificial 
restriction of production in order to boost profits, the monopoly of 
inventions (legally expressed in the patent laws), the restriction of 
the domestic market (low wages, etc.), immense unproductive ex- 
penditures, the obstacles placed by private property in the way of 
technical progress (for example, the objections of the real estate 
owner to having cables laid on his land, thus preventing a general 
system of electrification), etc.—all these are various expressions and 
functions of a single quantity: the fundamental contradiction between 
the growth of the productive forces and the integument of capitalist 
production relations. 


The revolutionary upheaval accompanying the transition from 


tee 


{ 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 253 


one form of class society to another is a clash between the pro- 
ductive forces and the production relations, but this contradiction 
between the production forces and the property relations in a given 
society is not a sudden growth, but becomes perceptible Jong before 
the revolution evolves, during a long period, terminating in a 
destruction of those production relations that act as a hindrance 
to the further evolution of the productive forces. This “boiling 
point” is reached when the new production relations have already 
matured, concealed in the entrails of the old production relations 
(Marx: A Contribution to a Critique of Political Economy, New 
York, 1904, p. 12). 

Let us take a present-day example of this “hatching” of new 
relations in the womb of the old production relations. The capi- 
talist structure includes the totality of production relations in 
capitalist society, the fundamental feature of which is the totality 
of relations between workers and capitalists, relations that may be 
expressed—as we have seen—by means of things (capital). The 
capitalist structure of society is therefore determined chiefly by 
the combination of the relations between the individual capitalists, 
and those between the individual workers. The capitalist structure 
of society is by no means fully expressed in the relations within 
the capitalist class nor is its “essence” to be found in the relations 
between the workers. This essence consists in the combination of 
both forms of the production relations of capitalism, the bond 
connecting and binding two basic classes, each of which constitutes 
in itself an aggregate of production relations, as stated above. 
The following is the picture of the manner in which a new mode 
of production matures within a certain old mode of production. 

Within the production relations of capitalism, 1.¢e., within the 
class combination, a portion of these production relations consti- 
tutes the basis for the new “socialist” order of society. We have 
already seen what Marx considers as the basis of the socialist 
order ; namely, first, the centralized means of production (produc- 
tive forces), second (particularly in production relations), “social- 
ized labor’, i.e., principally the relations within the working class, 
the totality of the production relations within the proletariat (pro- 
duction bond between all workers). It is upon this production 


relation of cooperation, maturing in the womb of capitalist pro- 


duction relations in general, that the temple of the future will rest. 
We must also obtain clarity on another point; we have seen that 
the cause of revolution is the conflict between the productive forces 


254 — HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


and the basic production relations (property relations). Now, 
this fundamental contradiction is expressed in a contradiction in 
production, particularly in a contradiction between the one phase 
of capitalist production relations and the other phase. It is clear 
that the social centralized labor which is embodied in the proletariat 
becomes more and more irreconcilable with the economic (and 
therefore with the political) domination of the capitalists. This 
“socialized labor’? demands a planful economy, and will not tol- 
erate anarchy between classes; it is an expression of the organized 
nature of society, which cannot be fully realized in capitalist society, 
particularly not in the social field. For, class society is a con- 
tradictory, 1.¢e., unorganized society. Manifestly, the capitalists 
will not and cannot relinquish their class rule. It is consequently 
necessary to eliminate the rule of the capitalists, in order to achieve 
the possibility of organization all along the line. We therefore 
encounter a conflict between the production relations embodied in 
the proletariat and those embodied in the bourgeoisie. 

We are now prepared to understand the following. Since men 
make history, the conflict between the productive forces and the 
production relations will not find its expression in an attack made 
by dead machines, things, on men, which would be a monstrous 
and ridiculous assumption. Obviously, the evolution of the pro- 
ductive forces places men in a position of outright opposed situa- 
tions, and the conflict between the productive forces and the pro- 
duction relations will find its expression in a conflict between men, 
between classes. For, the relations of cooperation between workers 
find expression in the living man, in the proletariat, with its inter- 
ests, aspirations, its social energy and power. The restrictive, 
dominant basis of the production relation of capitalism also finds 
its expression in living men, in the capitalist class. The entire 
conflict assumes the form of a sharp struggle between classes; the 
revolutionary struggle between classes; the revolutionary struggle 
of the proletariat against the capitalist class. 


The opportunistic troubadours of the Social-Democracy, such as H. 
Cunow, love to emphasize the “unreadiness” of present conditions, 
for which they again seek support in Marx, who said that no form 
of production is succeeded by another form until it has created a field 
for the further growth of the productive forces. These hoary sages 
proceed, therefore, to finecomb the surface of the earth in their search 
for villages—let us say in Central Africa—which are still unprovided 
with savings banks, and which still contain naked savages. We should 
like to meet such efforts with a quotation from one of our own books: 


CC ee 


a ae es 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 255 


“The World War, the beginning of the revolutionary era, etc., is 
precisely an evidence of the objective ‘maturity’ here spoken of. For 
here we have a conflict of the greatest intensity, as a consequence of 
an antagonism that had developed to enormous proportions and was 
constantly being reproduced, having grown up in the womb of the 
capitalist system. Its destructive force is a fairly precise indicator 
of the level attained by capitalist evolution, a tragic expression of the 
complete incompatibility of the further growth of the productive forces 
with the envelope of the capitalist production relations. We are 
here dealing with the collapse so frequently predicted by the creator 
of scientific communism” (N. Bukharin: Okonomik der Transforma- 
tionsperiode, Hamburg 1922, p. 67). ~ 


c. The Revolution and its Phases 


We have seen that the starting point of revolution is the con- 
flict between the productive forces and the production relations, 
which places the class that serves as the bearer of the new mode 
of production in a peculiar position, “determining” its consciousness 
and its will in a specific direction. The necessary condition for 
revolution is therefore a revolutionizing of the consciousness of 
the new class, an ideological revolution in the class that is to serve 
as the grave-digger of the old society. 

It is worth while. to dwell on this point, above all, to recognize 
that this revolution has a material basis. Furthermore, it is neces- 
sary to make clear why we are dealing with a violent alteration 
in the consciousness of a new class, namely, with a revolutionary 
process. 

Each order of society is based, as we have again and again 
stated, not only on an economic basis, for all the ideologies preva- 
lent under a given order of things serve as rivets to hold together 
the existing order. 

These ideologies are not playthings, but in many ways serve as 
girders to maintain the equilibrium of the entire social body. It is 
- obvious that if the psychology and the ideology of the oppressed 
classes were absolutely hostile to the existing order, the latter 
could not maintain itself. Any form of sotiety will convince us 
that its existence is rendered possible on the whole by the psychol- 
ogy and ideology of class harmony, which is particularly well illus- 
trated by the example of capitalism at the beginning of the World 
“War of 1914-1918. While the working class had evolved an 
ideology that was independent of that of the bourgeoisie, the 
working class nevertheless was strongly imbued with a faith in the 


256 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


permanence of the capitalist world order, with an attachment to the 
capitalist state; the mentality of class harmony had great power. 
No true uprising of one class against the other was possible before 
the consummation of the entire psychological and ideological revo- 
lution. Such a mental revolution takes place when the objective 
evolution places the oppressed class in an “intolerable situation” 
causing it to feel clearly that no improvement can be obtained 
under the existing order. A class attains this realization when the 
conflict between the growth of the productive forces and the pro- 
duction relations has produced a collapse of the social equilibrium 
and made it impossible to restore it on the old basis. If we trace 
the course of the proletarian revolution, we shall find that the 
working class had already developed a psychology and an ideology 
that were more or less hostile to the existing order, during the 
capitalist evolution of humanity. Marxism expressed this ideology 
in the clearest and most profound manner. But precisely for the 
reason that capitalism still could and did continue to develop, even 
paying higher wages to labor by plundering and mercilessly ex- 
ploiting the colonies, the capitalists had by no means become “in- 
tolerable” in the actual consciousness of the masses of workers. 
In fact, in the working classes of Europe and America, a sort of 
“common interest” with the capitalist national state was felt. 
Simultaneously, the Marxian Marxism, originating in the Revolu- 
tion of 1848, had been replaced in the labor parties by a specific 
“Second International Marxism”, which distorted the Marxian 
theory both with regard to the social revolution, as well as with 
regard to the doctrine of impoverishment, of collapse, of pro- 
letarian dictatorship, etc. This condition resulted in the betrayal 
by the Social-Democratic parties in 1914, and in the patriotic 
tendencies in the working class. Only the war, an expression of 
the contradiction in capitalist development, and its consequences, 
began to make clear that “things could not go on thus’. The 
psychology and ideology of class harmony were gradually replaced 
by the psychology and ideology of civil war, and, in the purely 
ideological field, “Second International Marxism” began to be 
replaced by true Marxism, 1.e., by what may be properly designated 
as scientific communism. 

Therefore: this mental cevnlaon consists in a collapse of the 
old psychology and ideology (they are burst asunder by the new 
turbulent facts of life) and the creation of a new truly revolu- 
tionary psychology and ideology. 


Ee 


DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 257 


The Social-Democrats will never understand this; in fact, they would 
prefer to believe that no proletarian revolution may grow from the 
soil of misery and starvation, wherefore no revolution growing from 
this soil can be a “genuine” revolution. Marx’s conception of this 
matter, as stated in an editorial in the New York Tribune of February 
2, 1854, affords an interesting contrast to this view: “Yet, we must not 
forget that a sixth power exists in Europe, maintaining at certain 
moments its domination over all five so called ‘great powers’, and caus- 
ing them all to tremble. This power is revolution. After having long 
dwelt in quiet retirement, it is now again summoned to the field of 
battle by crises and starvation. . . . There is needed only a signal, and 
the sixth and greatest European power will step forth in shining armor, 
sword in hand, like Minerva from the brow of the Olympian. The 
impending European war will give the signal” (quoted by Cunow, vol. 
i, p. 322). Marx therefore did not engage in idiotic statements as to 
the impossibility of a proletarian revolution after the war, that revo- 
lution could not be built up on starvation, etc. Marx may have been 
mistaken as to the tempo of evolution, but he brilliantly predicted the 
main landmarks of the course of events: crises, starvation, war, etc. 


The second phase of revolution is political revolution, i.e., the 
seizing of power by the new class. The revolutionary psychology 
of the new class becomes action. The oppressed class, encounter- 
ing the concentrated power of the dominant class, namely, its state 
apparatus, disorganizes, in the process of struggle, the opponent’s 
state organization, in order to break down the resistance it offers. 
This state organization is to a certain extent destroyed and then 
rebuilt, partly from elements of the old system, partly from new 
elements. We must here point out that the seizure of power by 
the new class is not and cannot be merely a transfer of the same 
state organization from one hand to another. Even socialist circles 
have been subject to this naive error. Marx and Engels specifically 
speak of the destruction of an old power and the creation of a 
new power, and naturally so, for the state organization is the 
highest expression of the power of the ruling class, its congelation, 
its concentrated authority, its principal fighting mechanism, its 
principal weapon of self-defense against the oppressed class. How 
could the oppressed class break the resistance of its oppressors 
without laying hands on the principal weapon of oppression? How 
can an economy be defeated without disorganizing its powers? 
Either the powers of the commanding class are on the whole unin. 
jured, in which case the revolution may be regarded as lost; or the 
revolution is victorious, which usually amounts to the disorgani- 
zation, the destruction of the forces (chiefly, the state organiza- 
tion) of the commanding class. But as the material power of the 


258 - HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


state authority finds its most important expression in the armed 
forces, i.e., in the army, it is evident that whatever destruction has 
taken place has chiefly affected the whole army. The English 
Revolution in the Seventeenth Century showed this by destroying 
the state power of the feudal kings, their army, etc., and creating 
the revolutionary army of the Puritans, as well as Cromwell’s 
dictatorship. The French Revolution also showed it, by disinte- 
grating the royal army and creating another army on a new basis. 
The Russian Revolution beginning in 1917 has illustrated the same 
point in its destruction of the state mechanism of the feudal land- 
owners and the bourgeoisie, its disorganization and destruction of 
the imperialist army, and its creation of a new state of an entirely 
new type, and a new revolutionary army. 


Both Marx and Engels were well aware of this theoretically; we 
shall not take pains to prove this statement, as the reader will find 
the necessary material in Lenin’s State and Revolution, the orthodox 
Marxian treatment of which is now recognized even by bourgeois 
scholars (such as Struve and particularly P. I. Novgorodtsev: On the 
Social Ideal, Berlin 1921, in Russian). When forced into a corner, 
the Social-Democratic theoreticians now find themselves obliged to 
attack Marx openly, and to oppose the revolutionary, “destructive” 
phase of his doctrine. This grateful function has devolved upon 
Heinrich Cunow, (ibid., vol. i, p. 310: “Marx kontra Marx’), who 
repeats Sombart’s stupid fiction to the effect that the scholar Marx 
had inflicted great damage upon Marx the revolutionary. Cunow 
distinguishes two “divergent forms” of the theory of the founder of 
scientific communism; first, according to Cunow, the state is regarded 
by Marx, sociologically, as a thing arising from the conditions of 
economic evolution, an organization fulfilling social functions; second, 
Marx also conceives the state from a purely political point of view, 
as a class instrument of oppression, responsible for all evil. The first 
point of view is that of a scholar; the second, that of an “optimistic 
revolutionary” (!). It is in the latter view, according to Cunow, 
that we must seek an explanation for Marx’s hatred of the state and 
his effort to overthrow the state machinery of the bourgeoisie. 

It is easy to point out the error in Cunow’s view. He is wrong in 
contrasting the “social functions” of the state machine with its class- 
oppressing character. “Politics is the concentrated expression of econ- 
omy.” Capitalist production is inconceivable without the capitalist 
state. The capitalist production, of course, fulfills very important 
functions. But the fact of the matter is that during a revolution, the 
“important social functions” discard one historical garment and put 
on another, which takes place by a shift in classes, by a break-up of 
the old relations. Cunow’s sophistries are a repetition of Renner’s 
sophistries. During the war, Renner supported the Fatherland of the 
Hapsburgs and of capitalist profit by the following reasoning: unin- 
structed persons imagine capital to be a thing; Marx has shown that 
it is a social relation; this relation necessarily possesses two phases: 
capitalists and workers; consequently—this is Renner’s inference— 








DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 259 


when you speak of the workers, you necessarily imply the existence 
of the capitalist; consequently, in defending the worker, you must also 
defend the capitalist, for neither can exist without the other; such are 
the “interests” of the whole. All such considerations of course assume 
in advance that the wage worker wishes to remain a wage worker 
forever. In actual fact, however, revolution is not concerned with 
the “right” to be a wage worker, but with the “right” to cease to be a 
wage worker. 


The political phase of revolution therefore does not involve a 
_mere seizure of the intact old machinery by a new class, but more 
or less (depending on which class follows upon the old society) a 
destruction of this machinery, followed by the erection of a new 
organization, 7.e., a new combination of things and persons, a new 
coordination of the corresponding ideas. 

The third stage of revolution is the economic revolution. The 
new class, now in power, makes use of its power as a lever for 
economic upheaval, breaks up the production relations of the old 
type and begins to erect new relations which have been maturing 
in the womb of the old order, and in contradiction with that order. 
Marx defines this period of revolution as follows, in his discussion 
of the proletarian revolution: “The proletariat will use its political 
supremacy to wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, 
to centralize all instruments of production in the hands of the 
State, z.e., of the proletariat organized as the ruling class; and to 
increase the total of productive forces as rapidly as possible. Of 
course, in the beginning, this cannot be effected except by means 
of despotic inroads on the rights of property, and on the conditions 
of bourgeois production; by means of measures, therefore, which 
appear economically insufficient and untenable, but which, in the 
course of the movement, outstrip themselves, necessitate further 
inroads upon the old social order, and are unavoidable as a means 
of entirely revolutionizing the mode of production.” # 

We are now obliged to consider an important and fundamental 
question: in the typical case, how does this transformation, this 
reorganization of production relations, actually proceed, and how 
should it proceed? 

The old Social-Democratic view on this point was quite simple. 
The new class—in the proletarian revolution, the proletariat— 
removes the commanding “heads”, whom it dismisses more or less 
gently, and then assumes control of the social apparatus of pro- 


4Communist Manifesto, Chicago, 1912, pp. 40, 41; also quoted by Cunow, 
tbid., vol. i, p. 321. 


260 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


duction, which has been developed to a splendid and uninjured 
maturity in the bowels of the capitalist Abraham. The proletariat 
installs its own “heads”, and the thing is done. Production goes 
on without interruption, the process of production suffers no set- 
back, the entire society sails on harmoniously on its course toward 
a full-blown socialist order. But a closer inspection of the revolu- 
tion in the production relations will show us that these production 
relations, as viewed from the point of view of the labor process, 
are nothing more nor less than the total human labor mechanism, 
a system of interconnected persons, who, as we know, are related 
by a specific type of bond. Furthermore—an extremely important 
point—the labor functions of the various groups of persons in 
class society are connected with each other, bound up with their 
class function. Therefore a shifting of the class relations more or 
less destroys the old labor apparatus, causing the construction of 
a new one, precisely as in the political phase of the revolution. It 
is certain that a temporary decrease in the productive forces will 
result; every change in society must be paid for by discomfort. 
It is also evident that the degree to which the old apparatus is 
destroyed, the depth of the wound, depends above all on the extent 
of the shift in the class relations. In bourgeois revolutions the 
power of command in production passes from one group of owners 
to another ; the principle of property remains valid; the proletariat 
retains its former place. Consequently, the destruction and dis- 
integration of old institutions is far smaller than in cases in which 
the lowest layer of the pyramid, the proletariat, takes its place at 
the top. In such a case, an immense upheaval is inevitable. The 
old order: bourgeoisie, upper class intellectuals, middle class intel- 
lectuals, proletariat, is destroyed. The proletariat stands in splen- 


did isolation; everyone’s hand is raised against it. There results — 


an inevitable temporary disorganization of production, which con- 
tinues until the proletariat succeeds in rearranging the order of 
persons, uniting them with a new bond, 7.e., until a new structural 
equilibrium of society has become effective. 


This principle was enunciated by the present writer in his Okonomik 
der Transformationsperiode (particularly chapter iii) to which those 
interested are referred. A few supplementary remarks may not be 
out of place. First, may this view be considered orthodox? We be- 
lieve Marx interpreted the matter thus; at least, it is suggestive that 
Marx here uses precisely the same expression as that used in his dis- 
cussion of the destruction of the state. He says that the envelope 
(integument) of capitalist production relations is “burst asunder” 


| 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 261 


(Capital, vol. i, p. 837) ; in other passages he speaks of a “dissolving”, 
a “rebuilding”. Obviously, a “bursting asunder” of production rela- 
tions must interrupt the “regularity of the production process”, though 
a different condition might be more pleasant. Very probably this is 
the thought that peers through—though in rudimentary form—where 
Mark speaks of the economic “untenability”, of a “despotic inroad” by 
the proletariat, which nevertheless, so to say, is profitable in the long 
run. Second, we have heard a number of objections with regard to 
the New Economic Policy in Russia. The objectors point out that in 
the Oekonomik der Transformationsperiode we are too one-sided in our 
defense of the Russian Communist Party in its blind attack on every- 
thing; for the facts of life now show that the mechanism should not 
have been destroyed; now, it would appear, we have become as mild 
and gentle as the Scheidemanns. In other words, the destruction of 
the capitalist production apparatus is represented as a fact in the 
Russian reality, but not as a general law of revolutionary transition | 
from one form of society (capitalist) to the other (socialist). This 
“objection” is apparently based on a very careless conception of the 
matter. The Russian workers could not readmit the capitalists, etc., 
before they had given them a resounding thrashing and gained a firm 
foothold themselves, 2.e., until the conditions of the new social equilib- 
rium had been established in their main outlines, but our critics would 
prefer to start from the other end. Even in our official mechanism 
(for instance, in the army) we are now admitting great numbers of 
the old officers in Russia, and giving them commanding posts. Could 
we have afforded to do this at the beginning of the revolution? Dared 
we refrain from destroying the old Czarist army? The army would 
then not have been ruled by workers, but would have ruled the workers, 
which has of ‘course been sufficiently proved by the experiences with 
Ministers Scheidemann and Noske in Germany, Otto Bauer and Ren- 
ner in Austria, and Vandervelde in Belgium. Third, nine-tenths of 
the New Economic Policy of Russia is due to the peasant character 
of the country, 7.e., to specific Russian conditions. Fourth, we are 
of course speaking of the typical course of events. Under special 
conditions, we may have a state of affairs that will not involve de- 
struction. For example, after the proletariat has been victorious in 
the most important nations, the bourgeoisie may perhaps surrender with 
all its mechanism. 

The above point of view by no means maintains that all of society 
disintegrates into individual persons. On the contrary, it maintains 
that the various hierarchical strata of persons are segregated from 
each other; the proletariat cuts loose from the other strata (technical 
mental workers, bourgeoisie, etc.), but within itself, as an aggregate 
of persons, it closes its ranks more tightly, at least for the most part. 
This forms the basis for the new production relations (we have already 
seen that “socialized labor”, chiefly represented by the proletariat, is 
the very element that has “become mature” within the framework of 
the old economic order). 


The fourth (last) phase of revolution is the technical revolution. 
A new social equilibrium having been attained, 7.e., a new and 
durable envelope of production relations having been created, 
capable of serving as an evolutionary form of the productive forces, 


262 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


an accelerated evolution of these forces now sets in; the barriers 
are down, the wounds inflicted by the social crisis are healed, an 
unparalleled boom begins. New tools are introduced, a new tech- 
nical foundation is created, a revolution in technique takes place. 
Now a “normal”, “organic” period in the evolution of the new 
social form sets in, creating its corresponding psychology and 
ideology. 

We shall now recapitulate. The starting point for revolutionary 
development was a disturbance of the equilibrium between the 
productive forces and the production relations, as evidenced in a 
disturbance of the equilibrium between the various portions of the 
production relations. This disturbance of the equilibrium between 
classes is expressed chiefly in the destruction of the psychology of 
class harmony. Furthermore, there is a sudden disturbance of 
political equilibrium, which is restored on a new basis, then a sud- 
den disturbance of the economic structural equilibrium, also re- 
stored on a new basis, followed by the erection of a new technical 
foundation. Society begins its life on a new basis; all the func- 
tions of its life assume a new historical raiment. 


d. Cause and Effect in the Transition Period; Cause and Effect 
in Periods of Decline 


Our discussion of the process of revolution, which is equivalent 
to a process of transition from one social form to another, led 
us to the conclusion that this process, after its initial clash between 
the productive forces and the production relations, passes through a 
number of phases, beginning with ideology, ending in technique, a 
sort of reverse order, as it were. In this connection, it will be 
useful to examine a concrete example afforded by the proletarian 
revolution. Heinrich Cunow, self-appointed critic of Marx, finds 
a contradiction between two passages in Marx (one taken from the 
Poverty of Philosophy, the other from the Communist Manifesto). 
In the first passage we read: “The working class, in the course of 
evolution, will put in the place of bourgeois society an association 
which will exclude classes and their opposite, and there will no 
longer be any political authority as such, because the political 
authority is the expression of class hostility within bourgeois 
society.” The other passage (Communist Manifesto) defines the 
course of events as follows: “If the proletariat in its struggle with 
the bourgeoisie is forced to unite itself as a class, to make itself 


ee 





~DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 263 


the dominant class through revolution, and, as a dominant class, 
to eliminate the old production relations by force, in destroying 
these production relations it also destroys the basic conditions for 
the existence of class contradictions; it thus abolishes classes alto- 
gether, as well as its own class rule.” ® 

Cunow makes the following reply: “This (the passage in the 
Communist Manifesto.—N. B.) is, sociologically speaking, almost 
the direct opposite of the above sentence from Marx’s Poverty 
of Philosophy. In the latter work, we have, first, the abolition 
of class stratification, in the course of social evolution, which is 
followed by its political (!) conquest, since the basis of the old 
state authority is thus destroyed. But in the Communist Mani- 
festo, we have, first, the conquest of the state power, followed by 
the application of this power to an overthrow of the capitalist 
production relations, upon the disappearance of which the class 
contradictions and finally classes as such are abolished in the 
sequel.” ® Cunow therefore maintains that in the Poverty of 
Philosophy, Marx shows himself to be a learned evolutionist, while 
the Communist Manifesto reveals him as a crazy revolutionist. 
Mr. Cunow is here consciously distorting the facts, for he knows 
that the Poverty of Philosophy calls for a “bloody battle’ (“bloody 
battle or non-existence; thus—only thus—does history put the 
question’). In the first passage, Marx is speaking of the period 
after the conquest of power, of the dying out of the power of the 
proletariat; he is not discussing any “political conquest’’, but he 
considers the political authority from the outset as a vanishing 
quantity. The same is the case in the Communist Mantfesto. 
There is no doubt, therefore, that Marx considered the conquest 
of political power (1.e., the destruction of the old state machinery 
and the characteristic new machinery) as a condition for the trans- 
formation of the production relations, brought about by a forceful 
“expropriation of the expropriators”’. We are therefore dealing 
with things in the reverse order. The analysis is not proceeding 
from economy to politics, but from politics to economy. In fact, 
since production relations are being altered by the lever of political 
authority, it follows that economy is determined by policy. Cunow 
is absolutely wrong when he says that we are here dealing with a 
sociology that precisely contradicts Marx’s sociology. The proper 
word for this procedure is forgery. 


5 Quoted by Cunow, ibid., p. 182. 
6 Jpid., vol. i, pp. 321, 222, © 


264 — HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


It is important not to lose sight of the point of departure of the 
entire process, which is the conflict between the evolution of the 
productive forces and the property relations. The entire social 
transformation is based on this beginning, and does not cease its 
harsh course until a new structural equilibrium has ensued in 
society. In other words: a revolution begins when the property 
relations have become a hindrance to the evolution of the produc- 
tive forces; revolution has done its work, as soon as new produc- 
tion relations have been established, to serve as forms favoring 
the evolution of the productive forces. Between this beginning 
and this ending lies the reverse order in the influence of the super- 
structures. 

In the previous chapters we have seen that the superstructure 
is not merely a “passive” portion of the social process: it is a 
specific force, against which it would be absurd to argue, as even 
Mr. Cunow will admit. But just at this point we have an extended 
analysis, in time, of a reversed process of influence, which analysis 
results from the catastrophic character of the entire process, from 
the disturbance of all the customary functions. In so called “nor- 
mal times”, any contradictions arising between the productive 
forces and economy, etc., are quickly obliterated, are quickly 
absorbed by the superstructure, which passes it on to the economy 
and the productive forces, the cycle then beginning all over again, 
etc., etc. In this case, however, the mutual adaptation of the 
various sections of the social mechanism proceed with dreadful 
slowness, with torments, with immense sacrifice; and the contra- 
dictions themselves are here contradictions of immense propor- 
tions. It is not surprising, therefore, that the process of a reversed 
influence of the superstructure (political ideology, conquest of 
power, application of this power in reshaping the production rela- 
tions) is of long duration, filling an entire historical period. But 
precisely this is the peculiarity of the transition period, which Mr. 
Cunow absolutely fails to understand. 

The following also must be understood. Every superstructural 
force, including also the concentrated authority of a class, its state 
authority, is a power; but this power is not unlimited. No force 
can transcend its own limits. The limits imposed upon the political 
power of a new class that has seized the power are inherent in the 
existing state of economic conditions and therefore of the produc- 
tive forces. In other words: the alteration in the economic con- 
ditions that may be attained with the ud of the political lever is 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 265 


itself dependent on the previous state of the economic conditions. 
This may be best seen from the Russian: proletarian revolution. 
In November, 1917, the working class seized power, but it could 
not think of centralizing and socializing the petty bourgeois econ- 
omy, particularly the peasant economy. In 192i it transpired that 
the Russian economy was even stronger than had been supposed, 
and that the forces of the proletarian state machinery were merely 
sufficient to maintain a socialization of large-scale industry, and 
not even all of that. Let us now approach another phase of the 
question. Let us attempt to understand the nature of the inter- 
ruption of the productive forces, introduced by the revolutionary 
process; also, the temporary reduction in the level of these produc- 
tive forces. 

Unorganized society, of which capitalist commodities society is 
the most striking expression, always develops by leaps and bounds. 
We are aware that capitalism involves wars and industrial crises. 
We all know that these wars and crises are an “essential phase” 
of the capitalist order of society. In other words, the continued 
existence of capitalism necessarily involves crises and capitalist 
wars; this is a “natural law” of capitalist evolution. What is the 
meaning of this law, from the point of view of the productive 
forces of society? First, what is it that happens during a crisis? 
We have a cessation of factory work, an increase of unemploy- 
ment, a lower production; many enterprises, small ones particu- 
larly, disappear; in other words, there is a partial destruction of 
the productive forces. Parallel with this process, there is an 
enhancement of the organized forms of capitalism; a strengthen- 
ing of the large-scale enterprises, the formation of trusts and other 
powerful monopoly organizations. After the crises, there is a new 
cycle of development, a new growth on a new basis, under higher 
organizational forms, affording greater opportunities for the evo- 
lution of the productive forces. The possibility of continued evolu- 
tion is therefore bought at the price of a crisis and a waste of 
productive forces during the crisis. To a certain extent, the case 
in capitalist wars is the same. These wars are an expression of 
capitalist competition; they result in a temporary decrease in the 
productive forces, After wars, bourgeois states rounded out their 
‘boundaries; great powers became greater; small states were swal- 
lowed up; capital assumed world-wide proportions, obtained a 
greater field of exploitation, the outlines within which the produc- 
tive forces could develop were extended, a temporary decline was 


266 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


followed by a swifter process of accumulation. It may therefore 
be said that the possibility of an expanded reproduction was pur- 
chased, in this case also, at the price of a temporary decline in the 
productive forces. 

The same law may be observed frora the wider point of view 
from which we regard the evolution of society. The significance 
of revolution is in its elimination of an obstacle to the development 
of the productive forces. Strange as it may seem, in destroying 
this hindrance, revolution temporarily destroys a portion of its 
productive forces. This is as inevitable as the crises under capi- 
talism. 


The destructive effects of revolution (“debit side of revolution”) 
may be considered under the following heads: 


1. Physical destruction of the elements of production. Destruction 
of things and persons, in any form, during the civil war process, may 
be included here. If barricades are constructed of railroad cars, and 
men are killed (civil war and class war involve such sacrifices), this 
is equivalent to a destruction of productive forces. The annihilation 
of machines, factories, railroads, cattle, etc.; the injury and ruin of 
instruments of production by sabotage, failure to repair or replace 
absent parts, etc., absence of workers due to war, departure of mental 
workers, etc.; these are phases of the physical destruction of the 
productive forces. 

2. Deterioration of the elements of production. Here belongs: 
deterioration of machinery for lack of repair and replacement; physical 
exhaustion of workers, intellectuals, etc.; resorting to inferior substi- 
tutes (poorer metal, replacement of male labor by female and child 
labor; petty bourgeois elements in the factories, etc. ). 

3. Interruption of liatson between the elements of production. This 
is the main cause of the specifically revolutionary disintegration; it 
includes the disorganization of the production relations spoken of in 
our large-type text. (Destruction of liaison between the proletariat, 
on the one hand, and the technical mental workers and bourgeoisie on 
the other hand; disintegration of capitalist organizations; decay of 
liaison between city and country, etc., etc.). This does not mean a 
physical destruction of productive forces (things and persons), but 
their elimination from the process of production; factories not work- 
ing, men idle. Also, there is the waste due to the initial “inability” 
of the new class, its incapacity to build up its organizations, its ‘“mis- 
takes’’, etc. 

4. Shifting the production forces for unproductive consumption, 
including the readjustment of a great portion of the productive forces 
for military purposes; manufacture of cannons, rifles, military supplies, 
other war materials. cf. Oekonomik der Transformationsperiode, 
chap. vi). 

This enumeration is based on the proletarian revolution; obviously, 
any revolution will present the same classification, but the total ‘“ex- 
pense” of revolution will in general be lower in bourgeois revolutions. 

History fully supports these theoretical principles. The peasant 


OS 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 267 


wars in Germany were followed by immense disorganization; the 
French Revolution, with its financial crises, its monstrous price in- 
flation, famine, etc., shows the same course. The Civil War in the 
United States put the country back at least ten years. Later, the social 
transformation having been accomplished, a boom period will ensue, 
advances proceeding much more rapidly than any advances in the pre- 
revolutionary period, since society has‘now found a more appropriate 
envelope for its productive forces. 


Therefore: the transition from one form of society to another 13 
accompanied by a temporary lowering of the productive forces, 
which cannot in any other way find an opportunity for further 
evolution. 

The law of decline is distinguished from the law of the transi- 
tion period by the fact that the transition in the former case does 
not lead to a higher economic form; in this case, the decline in the 
productive forces will continue until society receives some impulse 
from without, or until its equilibrium has been found on a lower 
basis, whereupon we have a “repetition”, or a permanent state of 
stagnation, not a higher form of economic relations. 

An analysis of the causes of a decline will in general show that 
they are due to the impossibility of breaking down the given prop- 
erty relations; they therefore remain fetters on evolution, and 
react on the productive forces, so that the latter continue “going 
down” all the time. This may be the case, for example, when the 
opposing classes in a revolution are of about the same strength, 
making a victory impossible for either class; the society is doomed. 
The conflict between the productive forces and the production rela- 
tions has determined the will of the classes in a specific manner. 
But revolution has not advanced beyond its earliest phases. The 
classes give battle; neither is victorious; production falls asleep; 
society dies out. Or, we may have the case in which the victorious 
class is incapable of disposing of the tasks imposed upon it, or, 
the revolution may not mature to the “boiling point”; but the evo- 
lution of the productive forces has been proceeding in an environ- 
ment in which it has determined a quite specific class alignment, 
namely, a completely parasitic ruling class, and a completely de- 
moralized oppressed class. Here there will be no evolution; sooner 
_or later a simple, one might say a “bloodless”, disintegration and 
dissolution will take place. Or, we may have a case of mixed 
type. All these cases show that the evolution of the productive 
forces has led to an economy and to such forms of “superstructure” 
as have a reverse influence of such nature on the evolution of the 


268 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


productive forces as to oblige them to go down. Of course, when 
the productive forces go down, the level of the entire social life 
will also go down. 


Greece and Rome may be taken as examples of social decay, later 
Spain and Portugal. The ruling classes, maintained by the slaves con- 
quered in countless wars, became parasites, also a portion of the free 
burghers. Their technology permitted them to wage wars, thus con- 
ditioning a corresponding economy, which produced a specific state 
order; but the material condition of the classes also determined their 
being, their social psychology (a mentality of parasitic degeneration 
among the rulers; of degeneration by stupefaction and oppression 
among the oppressed). Such a superstructure was too heavy for its 
basis, the productive forces, which ceased to grow, ultimately becoming 
a negative quantity. In place of this perfectly simple explanation, 
most scholars present an unspeakable confusion, of which an excellent 
specimen is afforded by the latest book of P. Bitsilli: The Fall of the 
Roman Empire. Vassilyev, a professor at the University of Kazan, 
who enumerates—in a work already quoted by us—all the theories ex- 
plaining the fall of the ancient world, particularly emphasizes the 
theory of biological degeneration. This degeneration, in the case of 
the rulers, according to Professor Vassilyev, is a necessary conse- 
quence and the natural end of any civilization (with certain reserva- 
tions): for, brawn is replaced by brain, the nervous system develops 
its wants, a biological deterioration results. Mr. Vassilyev therefore 
believes that the materialist Marxian conception of history should be 
replaced by the materialist Vassilyev conception, which is much “pro- 
founder”. Mr. Vassilyev points out that the progress of the social 
sciences has taken the following path: first, there was an analysis of 
ideology; then, of policy; then, of the social order; then, of economy 
(Marx). We are told that we must now penetrate still more pro- 
foundly, descending to the material nature of man, his physiological 
constitution, the changes in which constitute the “essence” of the 
historical process. There is no doubt that the material nature of man 
changes; but, if we proceed beyond the limits of social laws, we must 
advance from biology to physics and chemistry, and then we shall 
become fully aware of Mr. Vassilyev’s error. The fact of the matter 
is that the law of cause and effect in social science must be a social 
law. If we wish to explain the social properties of man’s material 
nature, we must determine what are the social causes whose influence 
has altered the physiology (and also the psychology) of man. We shall 
then find that this phase is determined above all by the conditions of 
material being, 1.e., by the situation of the given groups in production. 
Mr. Vassilyev is therefore not digging deeper, but walking backwards; 
his theory is actually the time-honored theory of the inevitable aging 
of the human race. Besides being useless because it is based on a 
mere analogy with physical organisms, it is not capable of explaining 
the simplest phenomena. Why, for instance, has the infinitely more 
complicated European civilization not passed away, whereas Rome 
degenerated? Why did Spain “fall” and not England? Commonplaces 
about degeneration will explain nothing, for the simple reason that 
this degeneration is a product of social conditions. Only an analysis 
of these conditions can result in a proper view of the subject. 

An analysis of the causality of the transition period and the periods 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 269 


of decay will also throw light on the question of what determines the 
evolution of the productive forces, and what is the influence under 
which they are changing. Obviously, they are changing under the 
reversed influence of the basis, and of all the superstructural forms. 
Marx himself recognizes this. Thus, he informs us in Capital (Chicago, 
1909, vol. iii, p. 98): “Such a development of the productive power 
is traceable in the last instance to the sqcial nature of the labor engaged 
in production; to the division of labor in society; to the development 
of intellectual labor, especially of the natural sciences.” Strictly speak- 
ing, the matter does not end here: Marx emphasizes only the most 
important factors influencing the productive forces in industry. “But,” 
our opponents may object, ’why do you begin at just this point?” 
Our answer is: “For the simple reason that, no matter what inter- 
actions may be taking place within society, the internal social rela- 
tions at any given moment will—insofar as we are considering society 
in its condition of equilibrium—correspond with the relation existing 
between society and nature.” 


e. The Evolution of the Productive Forces and the Materialization 
of Social Phenomena (Accumulation of Civilization) 


A consideration of the process of production and reproduction, 
where the productve forces are growing, will present us with a 
general law; namely, as the productive forces grow, more and 
more labor is applied in the production of instruments of pro- 
duction. With the aid of these constantly increasing instruments 
of production, which are a part of the social technique, a much 
smaller part of the work than formerly will produce a much greater 
quantity of useful products of all kinds. When manual labor was 
used, comparatively little time was devoted to the manufacture of 
instruments of production. Men worked in the sweat of their 
brows with their insignificant, wretched tools, and their work was 
not very productive. But in a highly evolved society a great 
portion of their labor is devoted to the production of immense 
labor tools—machines, mechanisms—in order to produce further 
immense instruments of production, such as huge factories, elec- 
trical power stations, mines, etc., which consume a large part of 
the human forces available. But the use’of these tremendous 
instruments of production vastly increases the productivity of 
living labor ; the investment yields more than compound interest. 

In capitalist society, this law 1s expressed in the relative increase 
of constant capital as compared with variable capital. That por- 
tion of capital that has been devoted to the construction of factory 
plants, machines, etc., grows more rapidly than the portion put 
into wages. In other words, in the evolution of the productive 


270 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


forces in capitalist society, the constant capital grows more rapidly 
than the variable capital. We may state this in another manner : 
as the productive forces of society grow, they are being constantly 
realigned, with the result that an increasingly greater share of 
these forces goes into the branches producing instruments of 
production. 

The growth of the productive forces, the accumulation of man’s 
power over nature, is expressed in the higher and higher “specific” 
weight assigned to things, to dead labor, to the social technique. 

It is reasonable to inquire whether similar phenomena are pre- 
sented by other fields of social life, for we have seen that the 
superstructural labor is also labor, differentiated labor, which has 
been segregated from material labor. And we have seen that the 
outline of the superstructure includes both material elements and 
personal elements, as well as ideological elements proper. Where 
is there here an accumulation, an aggregation of “mental” culture? 
Do we here encounter anything resembling the material process 
of production? 

Let us anticipate: Yes, there is such a similarity, expressed in 
the fact that the social ideology is crystallized or congealed in 
things which are quite material. Let us remember that we are 
enabled to reproduce the ancient “mental cultures” out of the so 
called “monuments” of earlier epochs ; the remnants of old libraries, 
the books, inscriptions, clay tablets, statues, paintings, temples, old 
musical instruments, and thousands of other things. In a way, we 
may regard these things as a congealed, materialized ideology of 
ages long gone by, enabling us to judge the psychology and ideology 
of their contemporaries with precision, as the remnants of work- 
ing tools enable us to judge of the stage reached in the evolution 
of the productive forces, and even of the economy of these epochs. 
Furthermore, in the superstructural work, in ideological labor, 
instruments of consumption frequently serve also as instruments 
for further production. A picture gallery contains instruments of 
enjoyment; for the public which goes to view them, it consists of 
consumption products. But they are also instruments of produc- 
tion, not in the same sense—of course—as brushes and canvas, 
for the coming generations learn from them. A new school of 
art, a new “tendency” in painting, does not descend from heaven, 
but grows out of an earlier stage, even though it may renounce 
and denounce the old ideological system. Nothing is made of 
nothing. As, in the political field, the old state is destroyed during 


i ee 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 271 


a revolution, while the new state will contain many old elements in 
a new arrangement, so, in the ideological field, even the greatest 
interruptions do not wipe out a certain succession and connection 
with the past: the new building is not constructed on the “bare 
ground”. Paintings, for the painter, are an instrument of produc- 
tion, an accumulated artistic experience, a congealed ideology, 
from which any further movement in this field must take its start. 
Perhaps the following objection might be made: “All this may 
be very fine, but what has the sublime doctrine. of Christianity in 
common with the material symbols that have been traced on parch- 
ment or paper, or with the pigskin in which the Gospels are bound? 
What is the connection between the scientific ideology as such and 
the masses of paper that have been piled up in the libraries? 
Surely there is a difference between the ideologies, the most deli- 
cate product of the collective human mind, and such gross mate- 
rial things as books, considered as things!” But this argument 
may be due to a misunderstanding. To be sure, paper per se, or 
coloring matter, or pigskin, would in these cases have no meaning 
for us if they were without a social being. We have shown in 
chapter vi (b. Things, Men, Ideas) that a machine—considered 
outside of its social connection—is merely a piece of metal, wood, 
etc. But it has also a social being, in that men interpret it as a 
machine in the labor process. Similarly, the book, in addition to 
its physical being, as a piece of paper, also has a social being; it 
is considered as a book in the process of reading. Here, the book 
is a congealed ideology, an instrument of ideological production. 
If we approach the question of the accumulation of mental 
culture from this angle, it will be easy to admit that this accumu- 
lation takes the form of an accumulation of things, of crystallized, 
material shapes. The “richer” a field of mental culture is, the 
more imposing, the broader the field of these “‘materialized social 
phenomena”. Figuratively speaking (and not forgetting its char- 
acter as an ideology), the material skeleton of mental culture is 
the “fundamental capital” of this culture, which increases with 
the “richness” of this culture, and is dependent “in the last anal- 
ysis” on the stage reached in the material productive forces. The 
childish inscriptions, masks, rude images of idols, drawings on 
stones, art monuments, rolls of papyrus, other manuscripts, parch- 
ment books, temples and observatories, clay tablets, with their 
cuneiform writings; later, the galleries, museums, botanical and 
zoological gardens, huge libraries, independent scientific exhibi- 


272 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


tions, laboratories, sketches, printed books, etc., etc., are an accu- 
mulated crystallized experience of humanity. The new library 
stacks, with their new books, considered together with the old 
stacks and books, are an interesting physical manifestation of the 
collaboration of many generations in their uninterrupted succession. 


We have become so accustomed to many phenomena in this field as 
to lose sight of the historical boundaries. Our present-day psychology 
and ideology, for instance, finds its crystallization in the daily news- 
paper. Yet, the newspaper itself is a modern phenomenon, beginning 
approximately in the Seventeenth Century. No doubt important official 
news was already posted on walls (“published”) in ancient Rome and 
among the Chinese (Eighth Century a.p.), but this was barely a begin- 
ning (cf. K. Bucher: Das Zeitungswesen, in Kultur der Gegenwart, 
Berlin and Leipzig, 1906, part i, section i.). Books, in our sense, are 
also not found before the invention of printing, when there were only 
rolls of papyrus and parchment codices, then the most perfect method 
of preserving the accumulated “wisdom of centuries”, clay tablets 
(Babylon), preserved in gigantic libraries. For example, Ashur- 
banipal’s famous library (cf. Pietschmann: Das Buch, in Kultur der 
Gegenwart). Libraries (called by Leibnitz “treasuries of all the riches 
of the human spirit”) may therefore be found in very ancient times, 
and it is to the remnants of such libraries that we owe most of our 
information on many secrets of times long past (a short study on 
libraries is found in Die Bibliotheken, by Fritz Milkau, in Kultur der 
Gegenwart). Important examples are: the above mentioned library of 
Ashurbanipal (Seventh Century s.c.), also the libraries of the most 
ancient ecclesiastical schools (Third Century sB.c.). Hermann Diels 
(Die Organisation der Wissenschaft, in Kultur der Gegenwart, p. 
639) rightly observes: “Among all institutions of learning, libraries 
have ever been the most important and most essential means of pre- 
serving, disseminating and transmitting learning, and of supplement- 
ing the evanescent viva vox of living teachers.” Art objects, of course, 
play the same role, as preserved in collections, galleries, museums, 
cathedrals, etc. 


The accumulation of mental culture is therefore not only an 
accumulation of psychological and ideological elements in the minds 
of men, but also an accumulation of things. 


f. The Process of Reproduction of Social Life as a Whole 


We are now in a position to recapitulate this subject: 

A constant “metabolism” is taking place between nature and 
society, a process of social reproduction, a labor process operating 
in cycles, constantly replacing what is consumed, extending its 
basis as the productive forces develop, and enabling mankind to 
widen the boundaries of its existence. 

But the process of production of material products is simul — 








DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 273 


taneously also a process of production of the given economic 
relations. Marx says: “Capitalist production, therefore, under 
its aspect of a continuous connected process, of a process of repro- 
duction, produces not only commodities, not only surplus-value, but 
it also produces and reproduces the capitalist relation; on the one 
hand the capitalist, on the other, the wage-laborer.” 7 This formula 
of Marx is not only applicable to capitalist production, but uni- 
versally applicable in general. If we consider the case of the 
ancient slaveholding economy, each production cycle in it will be 
accompanied by the slaveholders’ receiving his share and the slave 
his; in the next cycle, the slaveholder will also discharge his role, 
while the slave will discharge his; if reproduction should expand, 
the sole alteration will be in the fact that the share and power of 
the slaveholder, the number of his slaves, the amount of surplus 
labor produced by them, will become greater. Thus, the process 
of material production is simultaneously a process of the repro- 
duction of those production relations, of that historical envelope, 
in which they are operative. On the other hand, the process of 
material reproduction is a process of constant reproduction of the 
corresponding labor forces. ‘Man himself,” writes Marx, “viewed 
as the impersonation of labor power, is a natural object, a thing, 
although a living conscious thing, and labor is the manifestation 
of this power residing in him.” ® But at various historical periods, 
in accordance with the social technique, the mode of production, 
etc., specific labor forces, i.e., labor forces with the required skill, 
are available. The process of reproduction is constantly repro- 
ducing this skill; it therefore reproduces not only the things, but 
also the “living things”, t.e., workers possessing certain qualifica- 
tions; it also reproduces relations among them; with expanding 
reproduction, it makes the adjustments corresponding to the new 
level of the productive forces, in this case assigning the persons, 
who may not be the same (for new types of skill, new “living 
machines” are required), to posts in the labor field which may not 
be identical. But the fundamental texture of the production rela- 
tions nevertheless remains intact (except in the case of revo- 
lutionary periods) and continues to be reproduced on a pro- 
gressively larger and larger scale. 

If the totality of the various types of skill of the labor forces 
_be designated as a social physiology, it may be said that the process 


7 Capital, Chicago, 1915, vol. i, p. 633. 
8 [bid., vol. i, p. 225. 


274 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of reproduction is constantly reproducing the economy of society, 
and therefore also its physiology. 


All types of work have thus far required a specific physiological 
type, a result of specialization. We may therefore distinguish—even 
by his external appearance—a transport worker from a metal worker, 
clerk, butcher, stool-pigeon, etc., not to mention a musician or a mem- 
ber of the “liberal professions” in general. Therefore, not only is the 
psychology of men their social psychology, but their physiological 
structure is a product of social evolution. As he works upon nature, 
man alters his own nature. What we call “social physiology” may 
not be considered as opposed to economy, for it is a part of economy. 
The difference simply is this: in discussing economy, we analyze the 
connections and the type of these connections between men, their 
material relation with each other; what we call social physiology is 
not a connection, but a property of these same elements. 

Simultaneously with the process of reproduction, we have a 
similar motion of the entire vast machine of social lfe: the mutual 
relations between classes are reproduced, also the conditions of 
the state organization ; also the relations within the various spheres 
of ideological labor. In this aggregate reproduction of the entire 
social life, the social contradictions are also constantly reproduced. 
The partial contradictions, a disturbance of equilibrium emanating 
from the impulses imparted by the evolution of the productive 
forces, are being constantly absorbed by a partial realignment of 
society within the frame of the given mode of production. But 
the basic contradictions, those arising from the very nature of the 
given economic structure, continue to be reproduced on a larger 
and larger foundation, until they attain the proportions that bring 
about a catastrophe. Then the entire old form of production 
relations will collapse, and a new form arises, if the social evolu- 
tion continues. “The historical development of the antagonisms, 
immanent in a given form of production, is the only way in which 
that form of production can be dissolved and a new form estab- 
lished.” ® This moment is succeeded by a temporary interruption 
in the process of reproduction, a disturbance which is expressed 
by the destruction of a portion of the productive forces. The 
general transformation of the entire human labor apparatus, the 
reorganization of all the human relations, brings about a new 
equilibrium, whereupon society enters upon a new universal cycle 
in its evolution, by extending its technical basis and accumulating 
its experience (as congealed in objects), which serves as the point 
of departure in any new forward step. 


® Capital, vol. i, p. 534, 535. 





DISTURBANCE AND READJUSTMENT 275 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Plekhanov: Articles attacking Struve in the collection, Criticism 
of Our Critics (the best work on the analysis of the production rela- 
tions from the point of view of revolution). Rosa Luxemburg: 
Sozialreform und Revolution. Karl Kautsky: Die soziale Revolution. 
Karl Kautsky: Anti-Bernstein. Heinrich Cunow: Die Marsxsche 
Geschichts-, Gesellschafis- und Staatstheorie, vol. i. Werner Sombart: 
Sozialismus und soziale Bewegung. N. Lenin: State and Revolution. 
N. Lenin: The Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky. 
N. Bukharin: Oekonomtik der Transformationsperiode. Hermann Beck 
(editor): Wege und Ziele der Sozialisierung. J. Delevsky (Social- 
Revolutionary): Social Antagonisms and the Class Struggle in His- 
tory. Karl Marx: particularly, A Contribution to the Critique of 
Political Economy, also, Marx’s historical writings. 


VITI. THE CLASSES ANDTHE CLASS SURUGGEE 
a. Class, Caste, Vocation 


WE have already seen the important function of the classes in 
the evolution of human society. Even the social structure in a 
class society depends chiefly on what classes exist in this society, 
what is their mutual relation, etc. And we have seen that every 
great alteration in the social life is connected with a class struggle 
in one way or another. It is not unimportant to note that the 
transition from one form of society to another is realized through 
a furious class struggle. This is why Marx and Engels opened 
the Communist Manifesto with the words: “The history of all 
society existing up to the present is the history of class struggles.” 
We have already defined the general nature of a class. We are 
now prepared to go into further detail. 

A social class—we have seen—is the aggregate of persons play- 
ing the same part in production, standing in the same relation 
toward other persons in the production process, these relations 
being also expressed in things (instruments of labor). It follows 
that in the process of distribution the common element of each class 
is its uniform source of income, for the conditions in the distribu- 
tion of products are determined by the conditions in production. 
Textile workers and metal workers are not two separate classes, 
but a single class, since they bear the same relation to certain other 
persons (engineers, capitalists). Similarly, the proprietors of a 
mine, a brick-field, a corset-factory, are all of one class; for regard- 
less of the physical differences between the things they manu- 
facture, they occupy a common (“commanding”) position with 
regard to the persons engaged in the process of production, which 
position is also expressed in things (“capital’’). 

The production-relations are therefore at the basis of the class 
alignment in society. Other divisions have been made, which 
must now be disposed of. A frequent conception is the division 
into the classes of “poor” and “rich”. A man having twice as 
much money in his pocket as another is considered as belonging 

276 





CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 277 


to a different class, the basis of the division being in this case the 
amount possessed or the standard of living.. An English sociolo- 
gist (D’Ett) has gone so far as to draw a table of classes: the 
first and lowest class (paupers) have a budget of eighteen shillings 
per week; the second class, twenty-five shillings; the third, forty- 
five shillings, etc.1 This conception is not only very simple, but 
also naive and erroneous. From this point of view, a well paid 
metal worker in capitalist society would not be counted with the 
proletariat, while a poor person or artisan would fall into the work- 
ing class. The lumpenproletariat would have to be considered 
as the most revolutionary class, as the power capable of realizing 
the transition to a higher form of society. On the other hand, 
two bankers, one of whom has twice as much money as the other, 
would have to be assigned to two separate classes. Yet, every- 
day experience shows us that the various classes of workers are 
far more likely to fight side by side than are the workers and 
artisans, or workers and peasants, etc. The peasant is not much 
inclined to feel any solidarity with the worker. At the other end 
of the scale, two bankers feel themselves to be members of the 
same family, though one be ten times as rich as the other. Marx 
already pointed out that the size of one’s purse constitutes a merely 
quantitative difference, which may, to be sure, throw two indi- 
viduals of the same class into violent opposition to each other. 
In other words, the difference in “‘wealth’’ may not be considered 
as sufficient basis for the definition of a class, even though it have 
an influence within the frame of one class. 

Another widely accepted theory is that which makes the process 
of distribution the basis of the class division of society, 7.e., the 
distribution of social income. ‘Thus, in capitalist society, the divi- 
sion of income into three principal groups, profits, ground rent, 
wages, gives rise to a distinction between three classes: capitalists, 
landlords, proletarians -(wage workers). The share falling to 
each of these classes may only grow—for a given quantity of so- 
cial income—at the cost of the share falling te another class. The 
members of one class are therefore united not only by common 
and uniform interests, but also by the opposition of their interests 
to those of other classes. 

Unless we debase this theory to a mere consideration of who 
_ is getting more and who less, we at once encounter the following 


1 Social Classes: The Principal Factors in the Evolution of the Class Prob- 
lem and the Principal Theories, Tomsk, 1919 (in Russian), pp. 268 et seq. 


* 


278 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


question: why are the persons who are united in a class reproduced 
as a class? How comes it that—let us say—in capitalist society, 
certain types of income exist? What is the cause for the stability 
of these “types of income’? The mere putting of these questions 
shows the true statement of affairs. This stability depends on the 
relation to the means of production, which, in turn, express the 
relation between men in the process of production. The function 
of men in production, and the ownership in the interests of pro- 
duction, 7.e., the “distribution of persons” and the “distribution of 
means of production” are fixed quantities within the limits of the 
existing mode of production. If we are dealing with capitalism, 
we have therefore a category of men who command the production 
process, who simultaneously control all sorts of means of produc- 
tion, and there is also a category of men working at the command 
of the former, subordinating their labor power to them, and pro- 
ducing commodity values. This circumstance is responsible for 
the fact that a certain natural law process prevails in the distribu- 
tion of the products of labor (i.e., in the distribution of income). 
We have therefore come to the point of considering the most im- 
portant phases in production—the “distribution of persons” and 
the “distribution of things’”—as the basis of class relations. 

Nor could it be otherwise, as we may learn if we approach the 
question in the most abstract terms. Every class is obviously a 
certain “real aggregate’, 7.e., it sums up all the persons related in 
uninterrupted mutual reactions, all the “living persons’ whose 
roots are in production, and whose thoughts may reach into the 
skies. Each class is a special, definite human system within the 
great system known as human society. Our approach to the class 
must be similar, therefore, to our approach to society; in other 
words, the analysis of classes must begin with production. We 
must of course not be surprised to find classes differing from each 
other along various lines: in production as well as in distribution, 
in politics, in psychology, in ideology. For all these things are 
interdependent ; you cannot crown a proletarian tree with bourgeois 
twigs; this would be worse than placing a saddle on a cow. But 
this connection is determined, in the last analysis, by the position 
of the classes in the process of production. Therefore, we must 
define the classes according to a production criterion. 

What is the difference between a social class and a social caste? 
A class, as we have seen, is a category of persons united by a 
common role in the production process, a totality in which each 








CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 279 


member has about the same relative position with regard to the 
other functions in the production process. .A social caste, on the 
other hand, is a group of persons united by their common position 
in the juristic or legal order of society. Landlords are a class; 
the nobility are a caste; the great landlords are defined by a com- 
mon production type, not so the nobility. The noble has certain 
legal rights and privileges, due to his “noble station”. Yet, eco- 
nomically speaking, this noble may be impoverished ; he may barely 
vegetate; he may be a slum-dweller; but his station remains that 
of a noble; such is the Baron in Gorki’s Lower Depths. Similarly, 
under the Tsarist government, workers’ passports often contained 
the words: “Peasant from such and such a province, such and 
such a district, such and such a parish”, although this worker had 
never been a peasant, had been born in a city and worked for wages 
since childhood. Such is the difference between class and caste. 
A person whose class character is that of a worker may (from the 
standpoint of Tsarist laws) be classified as a peasant. But have 
we any right to dwell on laws without descending deeper, since we 
know that politics (including law) is “the concentrated expression 
of economy”? 

Of course, we must go deeper; we have ourselves pointed out 
that it is methodologically very important to approach the social 
alignments chiefly from the production angle. We find the ques- 
tion of caste excellently presented by Professor Solntsev, who has 
written the authoritative work on classes: “Socially unequal groups 
in the various stations appear as such and do not arise on the basis 
of the relations of the social labor process, of economic relations, 
but chiefly on the basis of legal and state relations. The caste is 
a legal-political category, which may express itself in various 
forms. ... As distinguished from caste, the class alignment 
arose on the basis of economic conditions’ (p. 22). Solntsev 
denies that caste is synonymous with class, or that it is merely a 
legal-political raiment for class, while he admits that in ancient 
times, for instance, “the division into estates necessarily reflected 
certain class differences” (p. 25), that “the class struggle assumes 
the peculiar form of a struggle between stations (estates)” (p. 26). 
This somewhat vague statement obliges us to seek a somewhat 
clearer formulation. Inthe French Revolution the tiers état was a 
mixture of various classes, then but slightly differentiated from each 
other: it included the bourgeoisie, the workers and the “inter- 
mediate classes” (artisans, petty traders, etc.). All were members 


280 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of the tiers état for the reason of their legal insignificance as com- 
pared with the privileged feudal landlords. This ters état was 
the juristic expression for the class bloc opposing the dominant 
landlords. It follows that class and caste may not be taken as 
synonymous, while the shell of the caste may include on the whole 
a class kernel (a single estate corresponding to a number of classes, 
which remain classes, in spite of the vagueness in Solntsev’s 
mind). On the other hand, class and caste may fail to correspond 
in another way, as already shown: one might belong to a “lower 
class” but “higher caste” (an impoverished nobleman may become 
a janitor or stoker), or the reverse: one may belong to a lower 
caste and higher class (a peasant may become a wealthy merchant). 
Evidently the “class content under the economic envelope” is here. 
non-existent. 

A correct theoretical statement of the case may not be obtained 
by a consideration of individual instances, but only from the point 
of view of typical mutual reactions within the frame of a specific 
economic order. The following fundamental circumstance is 
worthy of attention: the “estates’’ are abolished by the bourgeois 
revolutions, by the evolution of bourgeois conditions. Capitalism 
was incompatible with the existence of “estates”, for the follow- 
ing reason: in precapitalist forms of society, all relations are far 
more conservative; the tempo of life is slower; alterations are less 
significant than under capitalism. The dominant class is the landed 
aristocracy, almost a hereditary class. This striking immobility 
in conditions made possible a consolidation of class privileges—as 
well as class duties—by means of a series of legal standards; this 
immobility enabled classes to be enveloped in the garment of the 
“estate”. On the whole, therefore, the “estates” followed the 
same line as the classes or groups of classes, in their opposition 
to a certain class. But this harmony was brusquely disturbed by 
the entrance of the far more mobile conditions of commodities 
capitalism; the insignificant man became important; the nouveaux 
riches arose, a very frequent phenomenon (some of the great land- 
lords assumed capitalist forms, others becoming impoverished, 
while still others maintained themselves on the previous level, etc.). 
Thus the mobility of capitalist relations completely undermines the 
existence of the “estates”. The transition period of the disinte- 
gration of feudal relations is also expressed in the growing dis- 
harmony between the economic content of the classes and the legal 
envelope of the “estates”. There now ensued the conflict that led 








CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 281 


inevitably to the collapse of the entire system of the “estates”. Its 
“caste” form was incompatible with the growth of the capitalist 
production relations, as the class envelope of the production process 
is now becoming incompatible with the further growth of the 
productive forces. Thus, Marx wrote in his Poverty of Philos- 
ophy: “The condition for the liberation of the working class is the 
abolition of all classes, as the significance of the liberation of the 
tiers état . . . was the abolition of all the estates’. Engels, eluci- 
dating this passage, adds the following: “Estates here mean the 
estates of the feudal state in the historical sense, estates with 
definite, limited privileges. The revolution of the bourgeoisie 
abolished the estates and their privileges. The bourgeois society 
now recognizes only classes. To term the proletariat the fourth 
estate was therefore to contradict history.” 

Therefore: in the period of the stable precapitalist systems, the 
estates were the legal expression of the classes; the increasing in- 
compatibility of these quantities (the disturbance of equilibrium 
between the class content and the legal form of the estates) was 
called forth by the growth of capitalist relations and the disinte- 
gration of not only the higher but also the lower of the old feudal 
classes. Under the feudal system, the peasantry as a class coin- 
cided in general with the peasantry as an estate; but the country 
bourgeoisie and the city proletariat began to differentiate from the 
peasantry, retaining, however, the garment of their former “estate” 
(caste), which, being ill adapted to the new conditions, have had 
to be discarded. 

We must now examine the third category mentioned at the be- 
ginning of this chapter. Manifestly, vocation is connected with 
the process of production. At first glance, the difference between 
vocation and class is based on the fact that the line between 
vocations is not drawn as a line in the relations between men, 
but as a line in their relations with things, depending on what 
things, with what things one works, what things are produced. 
The difference between metal turner and joiner and mason is not 
based on a different relation to capitalists, but simply on the fact 
that one works metals, the other wood, the third stone. 

Yet the essence of the matter is not in the thing, for vocation 
is simultaneously a social relation; in the process of production, 
which unites many workers of different types, owing to the stand- 
ards of the production process, a definite relation naturally prevails. 
However different these relations may be, they are all subsidiary 


282 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


to the differences that prevail in the principal phase: the differ- 
ences between the work of those who command and those who 
obey, the differences expressed in the property relations. 

The classification by vocation, as a relation between persons, 
as a relation based on the relation toward technical tools, methods, 
objects of labor, coincides neither with the division of labor into 
commanding and obeying elements, nor with the corresponding 
distribution of instruments of production, 7.e., with the property 
relations in these instruments of production. 


Professor Solntsev is therefore wrong in declaring that vocation 
“is a natural technical category (Solntsev’s italics, N. B.), that it is 
peculiar to human communities even in the prehistoric period, as well 
as in the following stages, that it is not an historical category con- 
nected with the social order” (ibid., p. 21), in short, that it is an 
eternal category. Vocations become vocations for the reason that a 


certain kind of labor is usually performed throughout the individual’s, 


life: let the shoemaker stick to his last! But this does not signify 
that things have always been thus and must always remain thus. The 
increasingly automatic nature of technology will liberate men from 
this necessity and will show to what extent this category also has 
been historical rather than permanent. 


We are now prepared to take up a description of the most 
important classes. 

1. The basic classes of a given social form (classes in the proper 
sense of the word) are two in number: on the one hand, the class 
which commands, monopolizing the instruments of production; on 
the other hand, the executing class, with no means of production, 
which works for the former. The specific form of this relation of 
economic exploitation and servitude determines the form of the 
given class society. For example: if the relation between the com- 
manding and executing class is reproduced by the purchase of 
labor power in the market, we have capitalism. If it is reproduced 
by the purchase of persons, by plunder, or otherwise, but not by 
the purchase of labor power alone, and if the commanding class 
gains control of not only the labor power but also of body and 
soul of the exploited persons, we have a slaveholding system, etc. 


In connection with capitalism, three classes are usually counted, as 
confirmed by Marx in the well-known passage at the end of volume 
iii of Capital, where the manuscript suddenly breaks off at the be- 
ginning of an analysis of the classes in capitalist society. “The own- 
ers of mere labor power, the owners of capital, and the landlords, 
whose respective sources of income are wages, profit and sround-rent, 


; 
: 








CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 283 


in other words, wage laborers, capitalists and landlords, form the three 
great classes of modern society resting on the capitalist mode of pro- 
duction.” (Capital, Chicago, 1909, vol. iii, p. 1,031.) But the cir- 
cumstance that the land-owning group constitutes a great “class” 
does not imply that it is one of the essential classes. Thus, we find 
the following passage in Marx, which Professor Solntsev erroneously 
quotes in his own support: “Objectified and living labor are the two 
factors on the contrast between which capitalist production is based. 
Capitalist and wage laborer are the sole functionaries and factors in 
production, their relation and opposition being a result of the very 
essence of the capitalist mode of production. . . . Production, as ob- 
served by James Mill, might therefore continue uninterrupted, if the 
landlord should disappear and be replaced by the state... . This re- 
duction in the number of classes directly concerned in production, to 
capitalists and wage laborers, eliminating the landlord, who only sub- 
sequently enters into the relation, as a consequence not of property 
relations produced within the limits of the capitalist mode of pro- 
duction, but of property relations handed down to capitalism—a re- 
duction inherent in the nature of the capitalist mode of production, 
distinguishing it from feudal and ancient production—makes it an 
adequate theoretical expression of the capitalist mode of production 
and manifests its differentia specifica.” (Marx: Theorien iiber den 
Mehrwert, Stuttgart, 1915, vol. ii, part i, pp. 292 et seq.). Marx again 
makes the same statement in his treatment of nationalization of the 
soil. 


The basic classes may be subdivided into their various elements. 
In capitalist society, the commanding bourgeoisie was partly indus- 
trial, partly commercial, partly banking, etc. The working class 
includes skilled and unskilled workers. 

2. Intermediate classes: these include such social-economic 
groups as constitute a necessity for the society in which they live, 
without being a remnant of the old order. They occupy a middle 
position between the commanding and exploiting classes. Such 
are, for instance, the technical mental workers in capitalist society. 

3. Transition classes: these include such groups as have emerged 
from the preceding form of society, and as are now disintegrating 
in their present form, giving rise to various classes with opposite 
roles in production. Such are, for example, the artisans and 
peasants in capitalist society, who constitutera heritage from the 
feudal system, and from whom both the bourgeoisie and the pro- 
letariat are recruited. 

Thus, the peasantry is constantly falling to pieces under capi- 
talism; economically speaking, it is differentiated ; the rich peasant 
grows out of the medium peasantry, becoming a trader and, one 
step further up, a true bourgeois. On the other hand, the pro- 
letariat is also growing out of the peasantry, by some such process 


284 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


as this: the peasant has no horse; he becomes a farm laborer or 
seasonal worker ; he becomes a true proletarian. 

4. Mixed class types: these include such groups as belong to one 
class in one respect and to another class in another respect, for ex- 
ample, the railroad worker who runs a farm of his own, for which 
he hires a laborer ; he is a worker from the standpoint of the rail- 
road company, but an “employer” from the standpoint of his 
hired man. 

5. Finally there are the so call déclassé groups, 1.e., categories 
of persons outside the outlines of social labor: the lumpenprole- 
tariat, beggars, vagrants, etc. 

In an analysis of the “abstract type” of society, 7.e., any social 
form in its purest state, we are dealing almost exclusively with its 
basic classes; but when we take up the concrete reality, we of 
course find ourselves faced with the motley picture with all its 
social-economic types and relations. 


The general cause of the existence of classes is defined by Engels 
in his Anti-Diihring as follows: “. . . that all previous historical con- 
tradictions between exploiting and exploited, ruling and oppressed 
classes are explained by the same comparatively undeveloped produc- 
tivity of human labor. As long as the truly working population is 
so completely occupied by its necessary labor as to leave it no time 
for conducting the common affairs of society—division of labor, busi- 
ness of the state, legal matters, art, science, etc-——so long did we 
necessarily have a special class which, freed from actual labor, looked 
after these matters; in which connection, it never failed to place more 
and more work upon the shoulders of the working masses, for its own 
advantage” (Friedrich Engels: Herrn Eugen Diihrings Unwilzung 
der Wissenschaft, Stuttgart, 1901, pp. 190, 191). In another passage 
(p. 190), practically the same remark is repeated, with the added state- 
ment that society is divided into two classes. A recapitulation of the 
whole matter is this: ‘The law of the division of labor is therefore 
the basic factor in the division into classes.” 

Professor Solntsev criticizes G. Schmoller, who finds the cause of 
the formation of the classes to be chiefly the division of labor, and 
attacks ‘Schmoller’s reference to Engels with the following words: 
“Engels actually shows the close connection between the process of 
class formation and the process of the division of labor; but... 
Engels regards the division of labor as only the necessary natural- 
technical condition for the formation of social classes, not as their 
cause; the causal basis of the formation of classes was found by Engels, 
not in the division of labor, but in the relation between production 
and distribution, 7.e., in processes of purely economic nature” (ibid., 
Pp. 303, my italics, N. B.). As we have observed above, when con- 
sidering the question of vocation, we may not oppose the division of 
labor to the production relations, for the division of labor is likewise 
one of the varieties of the production relations. Schmoller’s error — 
(in his books, Die Tatsachen der Arbeitsteilung, Jahrbiicher, 1889; 








CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 285 


Das Wesen der Arbeiisteilung und Klassenbildung, Jahrbiicher, 1890) 
is in overlooking the difference between the stratification of vocations 
and the stratification of classes, thus’ reconciling class oppositions in 
the spirit of the organic school. The theory of L. Gumplowicz and 
F, Oppenheimer, which traces the origin of classes from extra-eco- 
nomic force, overlooks the difference between the abstract theory of 
society and the concrete facts of history. In actual history, the rdle 
of the extra-economic use of force (conquest) was very great, and 
had an influence on the process of class formation. But in a purely 
theoretical investigation, this condition may not be considered. As- 
suming that we are analyzing society only, “abstract society”, in its 
evolution, we should find classes developing here also, by reason of the 
so called “internal” causes of development mentioned by Engels. 
Therefore, the role of conquests, etc., is merely a (very important) 
complicating factor. 


b. Class Interest 


We have seen that classes are specific groups of persons, “real | 
aggregates”, distinguished by their role in production, which role | 
is expressed in the property relations. But these two phases in the | 
production process also are accompanied by a third phase—the 
process of the distribution of products in one way or another. 
Production is paralleled by distribution. 

The forms of distribution correspond to the forms of production. 
The position of the classes in production determines their position 
in distribution. The antagonism between administrators and the 
administrated, between the class monopolizing the instruments of 
production and the class possessing no means of production, is 
expressed in an antagonism in income, in a contradiction between 
the shares held by each class in the product turned out. This dif- 
ferent “being” of the classes also determines their “consciousness’’. 
The contradictions of the “being”, of the conditions of existence, 
are directly reflected in the growth of class interests. The most 
primitive and general expression of class interest is the effort of 
the classes to increase their share in the distribution of the total 
mass of products. 

In the system of class society, the process of production is at 
the same time a process of the economic exploitation of those who 
work physically. 

They produce more than they receive, not only because a portion 
of the product turned out (of values, in capitalist society) goes 
for extending production (“accumulation’, in capitalist society), 
but also because the working class is supporting the owners of the 
instruments of production, is working for them. The most general 


286 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


interest of the dominant minority may therefore be formulated 
as the effort to maintain and extend the opportunities for econome 
exploitation; while the interest of the exploited majority is to 
liberate itself from this exploitation. The first of these two efforts 
has an eye only to society as it exists at present; the second is a 
challenge to the existence of this society. 

But the economic structure of society—as we have seen—is 
fortified in its state organization and supported by countless super- 
structural forms. It is therefore not surprising to find the eco- 
nomic class interest clothed also in the garment of political, re- 
ligious, scientific interests, etc. The class interests thus develop 
into an entire system, embracing the most varied domains of social 
life. These coordinated interests, maintained in place by the gen- 
eral interest of the class, condition the construction of the so called 
“social ideal”, which is always the quintessence of the class in- 
terests. 

A few additional points require our attention in a discussion of 
class interests. 

First: permanent, general interests must be distinguished from 
temporary, momentary interests. The “momentary” interests may 
even constitute an objective contradiction to the permanent inter- 
ests. The English workers, for instance, were acting in accord- 
ance with their temporary interests when they accepted a class har- 
mony with the English bourgeoisie, supporting them in the im- 
perialist war ; they acted in the interest of their wages, which were 
increased at the expense of the colonial workers. But because 
they thus destroyed the solidarity of all the workers, and made a 
compact with their employers, they were opposing the general and 
permanent interests of their class. 


Second: the professional interests of a group must not be con- — 


fused with the general interests of the class. Thus, the dominant 
bourgeoisie may, in capitalist society, win over the aristocracy of 
labor (skilled labor), whose special interests then do not coincide 
with those of the entire working class; they are group interests, not 
class interests. Another example: during any war, the commercial 
bourgeoisie violates the commercial laws with all its might, 
although the bourgeois state itself established these laws, and is 
waging war in the interest of the bourgeoisie as a class. In other 
words, the group interests of the commercial section of the bour- 
geoisie is in this case at variance with the interests of the bour- 
geoisie as a class. 





CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 287 


Third: alterations in principle and tendency in the momentary 
interests of the class, proceeding simultaneously with the altera- 
tions in principle of its social situation, must not be left out of 
account. The example of the proletariat will serve to illustrate 
this point. In capitalist society, its most permanent and general 
interest is the destruction of the capitalist system. Its partial 
demands always have this general tendency: the conquest of 
strategic positions, the undermining of bourgeois society, the im- 
proving of the proletariat’s material position, enhance its social 
strength, preparing its forces for the attack on the entire capitalist 
order. Now, let us assume that the proletariat has discharged its 
historical task. It has destroyed the old state machinery, built 
up a new machinery, produced a new social equilibrium; tem- 
porarily, the proletariat assumes the place of the commanding class. 
Obviously, the direction of its interests has radically changed: all 
its partial interests, taken from the point of view of the general 
interests, are now subordinate to the idea of fortifying and de- 
veloping the new conditions, organizing them, offering resistance 
to every attempt at destruction. This dialectic transformation is 
an outgrowth of the dialectic evolution of the proletariat itself, 
once it has become a state power. 

The common element behind both these opposed directions of 
interest is the construction of a new form of society, whose bearer 
is the proletariat, a construction which presupposes the destruction 
of the old envelope, which had become an obstacle to the evolution 
of the productive forces. | 

A new class, to be capable not only of destroying the old system 
of social relations, but of building up a new one, must necessarily 
turn its interests in the direction of production, 1.e., it must not 
approach social questions from the standpoint of division and mere 
distribution, but from that of a destruction of old forms for the 
purpose of a construction of forms with more perfect production, 
with more powerful productive forces, 


r 


c. Class Psychology and Class Ideology 


The difference in the material conditions of existence that lie 
at the basis of the class stratification of society impresses its mark 
on the entire consciousness of the classes, 7.¢., on the class psychol- 
ogy and ideology. We already know that the psychology of a 
class is not always identical with the material interests of that 


288 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


class (for instance, the psychology of despair, escape from the 
world, longing for death) ; but it always results from the life con- 
ditions of this class, being constantly determined by the latter. Let 
us consider a few examples of the manner in which the class 
psychology and the class ideology are actually conditioned by the 
economic condition of the class. 

Our first example will be taken from the Russian Revolution. 
It is a matter of common knowledge that Russian Marxists and 
Social-Revolutionaries disagreed as to which class would lead 
society to socialism. The Marxists maintained it would be the 
working class, the proletariat; the Social Revolutionaries, on the 
other hand, claimed that the peasantry would take the lead in this 
Geld. The facts of life have supported the Marxists; the peasantry 
supported the proletarians in their struggle against the landlords 
and capitalists, because the proletariat guards the peasants’ owner- 
ship of the soil and makes possible the development of peasant 
economy ; yet the peasants are but little susceptible to communism 
and adhere to the old forms of tilling the soil, and of agriculture in 
general. It will be interesting to determine the reasons for this phe- 
nomenon, the heroic struggle of the proletariat and its incomparably 
greater receptivity for communist reconstruction and communist 
ideology. It is not sufficient to reply that the peasants are not quite 
so poor, for then we might ask why the Jumpenproletariat (beggars, 
declassed persons) did not furnish the chief detachments of 
fighters. | 

It is important to learn what are the traits that must be present 
in a class in order to enable it to accomplish a transformation of 
society, to shunt society from the capitalist track to the socialist 
track. 

1. Such a class must be one that has been economically ex- 
ploited and politically oppressed under capitalist society ; otherwise, — 
the class will have no reason for resisting the capitalist order ; it 
will not rebel under any circumstances. 

2. It follows—to put the matter crudely—that it must be a 
poor class; for otherwise it will have no opportunity to feel its 
poverty as compared with the wealth of other classes. 

3. It must be a producing class; for, if it is not, i.e., if it has — 
no immediate share in the production of values, it may at best de- 
stroy, being unable to produce, create, organize. 

4. It must be a class that is not bound by private property, for 
a class whose material existence is based on private property will 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 289 


naturally be inclined to increase its property, not to abolish private 
property, as is demanded by communism. 

5. This class must be one which has been welded together by 
the conditions of its existence and its common labor, its members 
working side by side. Otherwise, it will be incapable of desiring— 
not to mention constructing—a society that is the embodiment of 
the social labor of comrades. Furthermore, such a class could not 
wage an organized struggle or create a new state power. 

In the following table, the presence or absence of these char- 
acteristics in the various classes and groups is indicated by a + or 
— sign. 


——=—=—=—=—=$—$—Mm—aS9Dn@maa’T999SSS 





Class Properties Peasantry Lump €"- | Proletariat 
proletariat 
I. Economic exploitation an eo + 
2. Political oppression + + + 
3. Poverty + -L + 
4. Productivity -+- ake aie 
5. Freedom from private property — + 4. 


6. Condition of union in production, 
and common labor — ee + 


CRON AB Teh sds aarti: Mela NN ida Cart ste to an ea 

In other words, the peasantry—for instance—lack several ele- 
ments necessary to make them a communist class: they are bound 
down by property, and it will take many years to train them to a 
new view, which can only he done by having the state power in 
the hands of the proletariat; also, the peasantry are not held 
together in production, in social labor and common action; on the 
contrary, the peasant’s entire joy is in his own bit of land; he is 
accustomed to individual management, not to cooperation with 
others. The lumpenproletariat, however, is barred chiefly by the 
circumstance that it performs no productive work: it can tear 
down, but has no habit of building up. Its ideology is often repre- 
sented by the anarchists, concerning whom a wag once said that 
their whole program consists of two paragraphs. Par. 1. There 
shall be no order at.all; Par. 2. No one shall be obliged to comply 
with the preceding paragraph. 

We have thus seen how the conditions of material existence 
determine the psychology and ideology of classes in groups; the 
proletariat shows: hatred against capital and its state power, revo- 
lutionary spirit, the habit of organized action, a psychology of 
comradeship, a productive and constructive conception of things, 
a rejection of the traditional, a negative attitude on the “sacred« 


290 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


ness of private property”, that pillar of bourgeois society, etc.; 
in the peasantry: love of private property, preventing them from 
favoring innovation; individualism, exclusiveness, suspicion of 
everything lying outside the village; in the lumpenproletaniat: 
shiftlessness, lack of discipline, hatred of the old, but impotence 
to construct or organize anything new, an individualistic declassed 
“personality”, whose actions are based only on foolish caprices. 
In each of the above classes, we find the ideology that corresponds 
to its psychology: in the proletariat, revolutionary communism; in 
the peasantry, a property ideology; in the luwmpenproletanat, a 
vacillating and hysterical anarchism. Obviously, once such a 
psychological and theological nucleus is present, it will set the 
fundamental note for the entire psychology and ideology of the 
class or group concerned. 


In the old discussions between Marxists and Social-Revolutionaries, 
the latter usually formulated the question from the point of view of 
philanthropy, “ethics”, “compassion” for the “weaker brother”, and 
similar rubbish of a ruling class intellectual nature. For most of 
these “ideologists”, the question of class was an ethical question of the 
intellectual, with his qualms of conscience, who, in his desire to over- 
throw absolutism, which was an obstacle in his path, sought support 
in the peasant (so long as the latter did not set fire to the estates of 
the intellectual’s aunties and uncles), whose confidence he wished to 
gain, thus compensating for his own guilt by his noble-minded as- 
sistance. The Marxists, however, were not concerned with lacrimose 
sentiments or philanthropy, but with a precise study of class peculiari- 
ties, with finding out what class would lead in the impending struggle 
for socialism. 

A good study (although conservative and apologetic, supporting the 
Black Hundred) of the psychology of the peasant is to be found in 
the book of the evangelical pastor A. L’Houet (Zur Psychologie des 
Bauerntums, 2d ed., Tubingen, 1920). This learned Christian dominie 
esteems Germany’s peasantry “above all as its supply of bodily, men- 
tal, moral, and religious health, as the Reich’s war-hoard” (p. 4; 
L’Houet means cannon-fodder). The pastor, who finds among the 
earmarks of the firmly rooted peasantry: its “homogeneous mass”, 
its exclusiveness to the outside world, its fidelity to tradition, etc., 
gives an excellent description of the class psychology of the peasantry; 
but he is inspired with feelings of rapture with those of its qualities 
that we regard as the “idiotism of country life’ (Marx). For in- 
stance, L’Houet praises the inertia of the peasantry, its aversion to 
innovation. “As contrasted with this outspoken preference for every- 
thing that is new, the peasant unmistakably belongs to a world that 
reveres the old, that retains the ancient themes of life, continues to 
spin the old thread, to roll the old stones. With the disadvantage that 
he ‘remains behind the times’, ‘does not keep abreast of the times’, 
but with the great advantage that all the achievements of his life, by 
reason of this one-sidedness, are characterized by reliability, solidity, 
tried and true methods” (p. 16). This inertia is found everywhere, 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 291 


in the “preservation of the original settlement, of the old home, of 
the old farm-names, baptismal names, costumes, the old dialect, the 
old folk-poetry, the old mechanism of the soul, the old faces! In all, 
we find the same conservative sense...” (p. 16). Herr L’Houet 
is delighted with the fact that peasant dwellings in 1871 were prac- 
tically the same as in the Stone Age. He rejoices in the hereditary 
simplicity and poverty of the psyche, in the fact “that the number of 
life problems faced at any moment, in a religious, moral, artistic sense 
—or whatever other sense—is not very large, that each generation 
hands down the same supply of these things to the next” (p. 29). He 
is pleased to find that these limitations, this “idiotism’”—not the fault 
but the misfortune of the peasantry—is not destroyed by steam and 
electricity, for this “principle of the past” is the basis of a “simple 
grandiose existence in the ancient sense” (!!). “Solidity”’, thrift and 
avarice, lust for possession, etc., are of course also highly esteemed 
by our dominie (as on p. 6, for instance). These examples fully 
express the character of the class psychology and class ideology of 
the great landlords and their priests, who cherish and nurse precisely 
those qualities of the peasantry that prevent it from ‘‘advancing with 
the times”. 

The class psychology of the country nobility (1.e., the feudal land- 
holders) is characterized by the same outspoken conservative and re- 
actionary spirit, which no other class possesses to the same degree. 
This is not hard to understand; the feudal landholders, as we know, 
are the representatives of feudal society, which has now passed away 
in almost all countries. Fidelity to tradition, to the “established 
forms”, worship of the aristocratic family (its excellences, its fame, 
its “worth”), symbolically expressed in the “ancestral tree”; “merit 
and service’, the estate, the honor appropriate to “noble station”, con- 
tempt for those of lower station, the attempt to limit sexual and all 
other intercourse to those of like station only; these are the charac- 
teristic traits of this once ruling class (cf. G. Simmel: Soziologie, p. 
737 et seq.). 

The psychology and ideology in the classes of bourgeois society, 1.e., 
the urban classes, are far more mobile. The bourgeoisie, particularly 
when it was a rising class, not directly threatened by the proletarian 
revolution, by no means presented the conservatism of the nobility. 
Its characteristic traits were: individualism, a result of the competi- 
tive struggle, and rationalism, a result of economic calculation, these 
conditions being the basis of the life of this class. The liberal psy- 
chology (various “liberties’’), and ideology were based on the “‘initia- 
tive of the entrepreneur”. Very interesting observations are made by 
Werner Sombart and Max Weber, particularly on the economic psy- 
chology of the bourgeoisie and the various stages in its development. 
Thus, Sombart traces the rise of the entrepfeneur psychology, which 
arose necessarily from the fusing of three psychological types: that 
of the conqueror, of the organizer, of the trader; from the conqueror, 
it takes the ability to make plans, to carry them out; the conqueror 
has “toughness and persistence ... elasticity, mental energy, high 
tension, an indomitable will’; the organizer must be able to “control 
men and things in such manner as to obtain the desired profit without 
any reduction”; the trader, the merchant, is capable of trading and 
profiting by trade (Sombart: Der Bourgeois, Minchen and Leipzig, 
1913, p. 70 et seqg.). The bourgeoisie was characterized at the 


292 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


period of its highest development by a combination of these three 
traits. We have already discussed the psychology of the proletariat, 
as our whole book is concerned with the proletariat. 

It is obvious that the psychology and ideology of the classes will 
change, depending on the alterations in the “social being” of the 
corresponding classes, as has been repeatedly stated in the preced- 
ing chapters. One thing should still be mentioned: the psychology 
of the intermediate classes also constitutes an intermediate stage, 
while that of the mixed groups is a mixed psychology, etc. This 
also explains the fact that the bourgeoisie and the peasantry, for 
example, are constantly “vacillating’”’ between proletariat and bour- 
geoisie, for “two souls—alas!—dwell in their breast”, etc. As 
Marx puts the matter in his Der Achtzehnte Brumaire des Louis 
Bonaparte (Hamburg 1885, p. 33): “Over the various forms of 
property, over the social conditions of existence, there rises an 
entire superstructure of various peculiarly constituted feelings, il- 
lusions, modes of thought, and views of life. The entire class 
creates these out of its material foundations, as well as out of the 
corresponding social relations.” 


d. The “Class in Itself’, and the “Class for Itself” 


Class psychology and class ideology, the consciousness of the 
class not only as to its momentary interests, but also as to perma- 
nent and universal interests, are a result of the position of the 
class in production, which by no means signifies that this position 
of the class will at once produce in it a consciousness of its general 
and basic interests. On the contrary, it may be said that this is 
rarel¥ the case. For, in the first place, the process of production 
itself, in actual life, goes through a number of stages of evolution, 
and the contradictions in the economic structure do not become 
apparent until a later period of evolution; in the second place, a 
class does not descend full-grown from heaven, but grows in a 
_crude elemental manner from a number of other social groups 
(transition classes, intermediate and other classes, strata, social 
combinations) ; in the third place, a certain time usually passes 
before a class becomes conscious of itself through experience in 
battle, of its special and peculiar interests, aspirations, social 
“ideals” and desires, which emphatically distinguish it from all the 
other classes in the given society; in the fourth place, we must not 
forget the systematic psychological and ideological manipulation 
conducted by the ruling class with the aid of its state machinery 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 293 


for the purpose of destroying the incipient class consciousness of 
the oppressed classes, and to imbue them with the ideology of the 
ruling class, or at least to influence them somewhat with this ideol- 
ogy. The result is that a class discharging a definite function in 
the process of production may already exist as an aggregate of 
persons before it exists as a self-conscious class; we have a class, 
but no class consciousness. It exists as a factor in production, as 
a specific aggregate of production relations; it does not yet exist 
as a social, independent force that knows what it wants, that feels 
a mission, that is conscious of its peculiar position, of the hostility 
of its interests to those of the other classes. As designations for 
these different stages in the process of class evolution, Marx makes 
use of two expressions: he calls class “an sich” (in itself), a class 
not yet conscious of itself as such; he calls class “fiir sich” (for 
itself), a class already conscious of its social role. 


This has been splendidly explained by Marx in The Poverty of 
Philosophy, in the case of working class evolution: 

“Tt is under the form of these combinations that the first attempts 
at association among themselves have always been made by the work- 
ers. The great industry masses together in a single place a crowd 
of people unknown to each other. Competition divides their interests. 
But the maintenance of their wages, this common interest which they 
have against their employer, unites them in the same idea of resistance 
—combination. (Combination here means workers’ combination, 
N. B.) Thus combination has always a double end, that of eliminat- 
ing competition among themselves while enabling them to make a gen- 
eral competition against the capitalist. If the first object of resist- 
ance has been merely to maintain wages, in proportion as the capital- 
ists in their turn have combined with the idea of repression, the com- 
binations, at first isolated, have formed in groups, and, in face of 
constantly united capital, the maintenance of the association became 
more important and necessary for them than the maintenance of wages. 
This is so true that the English economists are all astonished at 
seeing the workers sacrifice a good part of their wages on behalf 
of the associations which, in the eyes of these economists, were only 
established in support of wages. In this struggle—a veritable civil 
war—are united and established all the elements necessary for a future 
battle. Once arrived at that point, association takes on a political 
character. 

“The economic conditions have in the first place transformed the 
mass of the people of the country into wage workers. The domination 
of capital has created for this mass of people a common situation 
with common interests. Thus this mass is already a class, as opposed 
to capital, but not yet for itself. In the struggle, of which we have 
only noted some phases, this mass unites, it is constituted as a class 
for itself. The interests which it defends are the interests of its 
class.’ (The Poverty of Philosophy, Chicago, 1920, pp. 188, 189, 
yy italics, N. B.) ; 


294 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


e. Forms of a Relative Solidarity of Interests 


From what has been said above, it is clear that under certain 
circumstances a relative class solidarity becomes possible; two 
principal forms may be distinguished. 

In the first place, we have the form of solidarity in which the 
permanent interest of one class coincides with the temporary inter- 
est of another class, while this temporary interest may contradict 
the general class interest. 

In the second place, we may have a form of solidarity in which 
this contradiction is Jacking, and in which we may yet have a 
coincidence between the permanent interests of one class and the 
temporary interests of another class, or between temporary inter- 
ests of both classes. 

The first form may be illustrated by an example from the im- 
perialist war of 1914-1918, namely, the attitude of the working 
classes at the beginning of this war. It is well known that in most 
of the great advanced capitalist countries, the workers, contrary 
to their internationalist class interests, rushed to the defense of 
their “fatherlands”. Their “fatherlands” were of course only the 
state organizations of the bourgeoisie, i.e., class organizations of 
capital. We therefore find the working class defending the organ- 
izations of its employers, which had come into conflict with each 
other for the division of markets, sources of raw materials, 
spheres of investments for their funds; this was certainly a sacri- 
fice of the workers’ own class interests, due to a condition of 
relative solidarity between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie in 
the nations of financial capitalism. We may understand this con- 
dition by imagining the entire system of world economy to be a 
countless number of intersecting threads—the production relations 
—meeting at several points in big, thick knots: the great capitalist 
countries, where live the “national” groups of the bourgeoisie, 
organized as a state authority. They remind us of the huge enter- 
prises, the gigantic trusts, operative in world economy. The more 
powerful such a state becomes, the more mercilessly will it exploit 
its economic periphery: the colonies, spheres of influence, semi- 
colonies, etc. As capitalist society develops, the condition of the 
working class should become poorer. But the predatory states of 
the bourgeoisie, which hoodwink the workers in the “spheres of 
influence’, were feeding “their own” workers and making them 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 295 


take an interest in the exploitation of the colonies. This condition 
brought about a relative material interest between the imperialist 
bourgeoisie and the proletariat; these production relations gave 
rise to a corresponding psychology and ideology, resulting in a 
recognition of the duty to defend one’s country. The course of 
reasoning was simple: if “our” industry (which happens not to be 
“ours”, but that of our employers) develops, wages will increase; 
but industry expands by obtaining markets, and spheres for the 
investment of capital; consequently the working class has an inter- 
est in the colonial policy of the bourgeoisie, must defend the 
“nation’s industry”, must fight for the nation’s “place in the sun”. 
All the other things followed naturally: laudation of one’s mighty 
fatherland, the great nation, etc., and the endless high-sounding 
rhetoric about humanity, civilization, democracy, unselfishness, etc., 
so prevalent in the first stage of the World War. This was the 
ideology of “labor imperialism’, leading the working class to sacri- 
fice permanent and general interests for the crumbs thrown to it by 
the bourgeoisie as the latter squeezed the last drop out of the 
colonial laborers, semi-laborers, etc., etc. Ultimately, the course of 
the war and of the post-war period showed the working class that it 
had lost the game, that the permanent interests of the class are 
more important than its temporary interests. There ensued the 
process of a swift “revolutionizing” of minds. 


The late Professor Tugan-Baranovsky, a “pseudo-Marxist”, for a 
time a White Minister, in the early stage of the Russian revolution 
(for pure “ethics”; he always reproved Marx for his lack of ethics, 
his permitting himself to be carried away by class hatred, which is, 
of course, quite vicious )—this Tugan-Baranovsky takes up the cudgels 
against Marx in the following terms: Marx does not see the solidarity 
of interests, denies its presence in capitalist society; yet “all social 
classes are equally interested in the preservation of the political inde- 
pendence of the state, insofar as the latter has an ideal worth in their 
eyes. In the economic field, the state not only serves to establish 
class rule, but also to advance economic progress, enhancing the total 
national wealth, which is in accord with the interests of all classes 
of society. [In addition, we have the cultural mission of the state, 
which is interested in the advance of education, and in raising the 
mental level of the population, if only for the reason that political 
and economic power cannot be separated from the advance of culture.” 
(Theoretische Grundlagen des Marxismus, p. 114.) 

Herr Cunow (ibid., vol. ii, pp. 78, 79) quotes and supports this pas- 
sage from Tugan, asserting, however, that Tugan here confuses 
social interests with the interests of the state. In reality, Cunow is 
confusing the revolutionary standpoint of Marx with the traitor stand- 
point of the Scheidemanns. The Tugan-Cunow reasoning is truly 
childish. We are told that the state is not only concerned with op- 


296 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


pression, but also concerned with it; therefore, all classes have an 
interest in the state. By this method anything might be proved. Since 
the trusts are not only concerned with exploitation, “but also” (!) are 
concerned with production, they are of general utility. Since the de- 
tective bureaus in America not only twist the arms of revolutionary 
proletarians, “but also” catch thieves, all classes have an interest in 
them, etc. It is with stuff of this kind that Herr Cunow fills the 
two volumes of his study on Marxian sociology! 

Cunow, however, excels all the distorters of Marxism with his 
cynical impudence: 

“According to the Marxian theory of society,” we read (vol. ii, p. 
77 et seq., of Cunow’s work), “any such general will as so excellently 
served the purposes of the older social philosophy, does not exist; 
for society is not a unified thing with perfectly uniform interests 
(?! society!), but it is divided into classes (not so bad; but what is 
Cunow going to do with the state? Whose will is expressed by the 
state? NV. B.). To be sure, there are also general social interests, for, 
since a living and working together in society is impossible without 
a certain order, all the members of society—with the exception of 
those who question the existence of society at all—are interested in 
maintaining this order; but, since they have different :deals of order, 
depending on their different positions within the social order, they 
have not the same interest in the various rules of this order, which they 
regard from various points of view, depending on the class angle 
of their vision.” To put the matter in plain words; men may think 
that it is the bourgeoisie that is interested in preserving the capitalist 
order, while the proletariat is interested in overthrowing this order; 
but nothing could be further from the truth. The wise Cunow sets 
us right on this subject: since life is impossible without order, all 
have an interest in maintaining capitalism. But since the workers 
have a different “ideal of order’, let them “criticize the various rules 
of the order”—so much Cunow will permit. But don’t dare go beyond 
that, for then you will be one of the persons who “question the ex- 
istence of society at all”. This is Marxism as revised and supple- 
mented by Cunow! 


We may also take as an example that period in the evolution of 
the working class when it lived in a so called “patriarchal” relation 
with the entrepreneurs in each specific industry; in view of the 
general weakness of social institutions, the workers had an interest 
in the success of the enterprise. The workers and their “bene- 
factors”, their employers, afford an excellent illustration of a rela- 
tive solidarity of interests at the expense of the general class 
interests. 

A certain analogy is afforded by the community of interests 
between slaves and slaveholders in antiquity, so long as there were 
still “slaves of the slaves” (the Roman vicarit). The slaves who 
held slaves were themselves slave-owners, their interests thus coin- 
cided, to this extent, with the slaveholders of the “first degree”’. 
In the present-day agricultural cooperatives in Western Europe we 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 297 


often find the peasantry working hand in hand with the great land- 
lords and the capitalist estate owners. The peasants unite with 
the others in order to dispose of their agricultural products; being 
sellers, they are opposed to the urban population; they desire high 
prices as much as does the wealthy estate-owner. 

We are now already leaving the outlines of the first form of 
solidarity, since in this case a true agricultural bourgeoisie, re- 
cruited from the peasantry, differs in no respect from the heredi- 
tary agricultural bourgeoisie. 

The best examples of the second form of relative class solidarity, 
namely, where this relative solidarity is not in contradiction with 
the permanent interests of the classes involved, are found in cases 
of class attacks against the common enemy, which are quite possible 
at a certain stage of evolution. For example, in the first phase of 
the French Revolution, the feudal system was opposed by different 
classes, both in economy as well as in politics: the bourgeoisie, the 
petty bourgeoisie, the proletariat, all these groups being interested 
in overthrowing feudalism. Of course, this general bloc later dis- 
integrated, and the petty bourgeoisie, in spite of its struggles 
against the great bourgeoisie, which had become counter-revolu- 
tionary, simultaneously fought the incipient proletarian movement 
most ruthlessly. Here we have a temporary class solidarity not 
at variance with the general and permanent interests of the classes. 


f. Class Struggle and Class Peace 


Various gradations of interest give rise to various forms of 
struggle. As already shown, not every interest of a section of a 
certain class is for that reason the class interest. If the interest 
of the workers of a single factory contradicts the interests of the 
remaining sections of the working class, we have not a class inter- 
est, but a group interest. But even when we are dealing with the 
interest of a group of workers which does not collide with the 
interests of other groups, the groups may yet fail to be united, class 
interest being absent in the consciousness of the classes; strictly 
speaking, there is yet no class struggle: the beginnings of a class 
interest, the germs of a class struggle, are present. A class interest 
arises when it places one class in opposition to another. The class 
struggle arises when it throws one class into active conflict with 
the other. Class struggle, therefore, in the true sense, develops only 
at a specific stage in the evolution of class society. In other phases 


298 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


of social evolution it reveals itself as a germ-form (individual sec- 
tions of the class are fighting; the struggle has not yet advanced to 
embrace the class as a principle, uniting the entire class), or as a 
concealed, “latent”? form (open conflict does not ensue; “stolid 
resistance” is offered; the ruling class is forced to pay attention 
to this resistance). “Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, 
baron and serf, guild member and apprentice, in short, oppressors 
and oppressed all were opposed in like manner to each other, waged 
an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open battle, a battle that always 
terminated in a revolutionary transformation of the whole society 
or with a common destruction of the struggling classes” (The Com- 
munist Manifesto). It will be useful to consider a few more 
examples. 

Let us suppose, in a slaveholding society, that an insurrection 
is taking place in a latifundium belonging to a great landowner; 
there is plundering, damage to things and persons, etc. We may 
not call this a class struggle in the proper sense of the word: it is 
the elemental fury of a small section of the slave class. The class 
as a whole is calm; a small band wages a bitter struggle, but 
remains isolated, includes but few in its numbers. The class as 
such does not come into action; one class is here not opposing 
another. Quite different is the case when the rebellious slaves, 
led by Spartacus, fought a real civil war for their liberation; here 
the slave masses were carried away: this is class struggle. 

Or, let us consider the example of a movement for higher wages 
among the wage workers of a factory. If all the other workers 
in the country remain calm, we have only the promise of a class 
struggle, for the class as yet is not kindled. Let us consider, how- 
ever, the case of a “strike wave”. This is class struggle: one class 
stands opposed to the other. We are no longer dealing with the 
interests of the group impelling another group, but with the inter- 
ests of a class impelling another class. 

The example of the peasant serf is also interesting. Among 
these serfs, there was a vague, sullen discontent; this feeling may 
break out, but since the class as a whole continues to be held down, 
it does not do so; the slaves, in terror, do not fight, but “mutter”. 
This is the “concealed” form of the struggle, mentioned by Marx. 

Class struggle therefore means a struggle in which one class 
has entered into action against the other class. From this arises 
the extremely important principle that “every class struggle is a 
political struggle’ (Marx). Indeed, when the oppressed class 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 299 


rises as a class power to oppose the oppressing class, this signifies 
that the oppressed class is undermining the bases of the existing 
order. And since the organization of power of the existing order 
is the state organization of the commanding class, it is obvious that 
each action of the oppressed class is directly aimed against the 
state mechanism, even though the participants in the struggle of 
the oppressed class may not at first be fully conscious of their 
hostility to the state power. Each such action is therefore neces- 
sarily political in character. | 

An interesting error of the I. W. W., in the United States, and 
of revolutionary syndicalists in general, may be detected by apply- 
ing this principle. The I. W. W. reject the political struggle 
entirely, for they naively understand it to be synonymous with the 
parliamentary struggle. But if the 1. W. W. should organize a 
general strike, or only a strike of railroad workers, miners and 
metal workers, it is obvious that this strike would have an immense 
political value, because it would have succeeded in organizing the 
most important armies of the proletariat, in terrifying the bour- 
geoisie as a class, in threatening to cut a breach in the machinery 
of the organized bourgeoisie; and therefore, because this strike 
would be directed, in reality, against the state power of the bour- 
geoisie. 


This transformation of the individual episodes of conflict into the 
class struggle, in the case of the proletariat is excellently shown by 
Marx in the Communist Manifesto. ‘Now and then the workers are 
victorious, but only for a time. The real fruit of their battles lies, 
not in the immediate result, but in the expanding unison of the work- 
ers. This unison is helped on by the improved means of communica- 
tion that are created by modern industry, and that place the workers 
of different localities in contact with one another. It was just this 
contact that was needed to centralize the numerous local struggles, 
of the same character, into one national struggle between classes, but 
every class struggle 1s a political struggle.’ (Communist Manifesto, 
Chicago, 1912, pp. 24, 25.) Marx defines this transformation of the 
various conflicts into a class, 7.e., political conflict, as follows: “Nota 
bene ad political movement: The political movement of the working 
class has of course, the final object of conquering the political power 
for that class, which requires, of course, a previous organization of 
the working class to a certain point, which organization is conditioned 
by its own economic struggle. On the other hand, any movement in 
which the working class is opposed as a class to its rulers, seeking to 
compel them by pressure from without, is a political movement” 
(Briefe an Sorge, p. 240, also quoted by Cunow, ibid., vol. ii, p. 59); 
(the italicized passages are in English in Marx’s letter; both Marx 
and Engels, owing to their long stay in England, interlarded their 
German letters with English words.—-Translator). Herr Cunow, in 


300 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


quoting this passage, interprets it as follows: “at a certain stage in 
evolution, various social classes develop out of the economic process 
as a whole, with their special economic interests, in accordance with 
their rdle in this process, and attempt to put through these interests 
in the political life’ (ibid., vol. ii, p. 59). This commentary is not 
quite correct, for Cunow suppresses the most important point, the 
point to which Marx gives chief emphasis: the opposition of one class 
to the other in principle, when each struggle is a portion of the process 
of the general struggle for power and for domination in society. 

In an exceptionally impudent article: Die Marx’sche Geschichtsauf- 
fassung (Preussiche Jahrbiicher, 1920, vol. 182, no. 2, p. 157 et 
seq.), Professor Hans Delbriick “criticizes” the theory of the class 
struggle, simultaneously displaying a truly titanic ignorance in matters 
of Marxism. On p. 165 he maintains that Marx failed to distinguish 
classes from castes; on p. 156 he states that there was no “destruc- 
tion” of the two classes in ancient Rome, while he admits the decline 
of the Roman Empire to be an undeniable fact. First there were 
civil wars, after which neither the victors nor the vanquished slaves 
were capable of leading society onward. On p. 167 he says that 
feudalism never existed in England! On p. 169 he “refutes” Marx 
with the fact that the peasants sometimes join hands with the junkers 
(cf. our own remarks in large type), etc. But the gem of his “ob- 
jections” is the following example. Delbriick quotes an ancient text 
discovered by the well-known Egyptologist, Ehrmann, in which we 
read of the ancient Egyptian revolution, in which the slaves managed 
to seize power. This text is interesting in that it might have been 
written by Merezhkovsky or any other White Guard gentleman in 
his rage against the Bolsheviks; it depicts the most frightful atroci- 
ties. Herr Delbriick calls our attention to this horrible example of 
the class struggle! But this worthy and truly German professor falls 
quite unwittingly into his own trap when he adds the words that this 
condition lasted for “three hundred years” (p. 171). Any fool would 
know that there can be no possibility of maintaining life for three 
hundred years in a state of absolute anarchy and without production. 
Things, therefore, cannot have been quite so bad, and Delbriick’s 
argument, an appeal to the emotions of the terrified bourgeois, is sim- 
ply ridiculous. 

Amusing objections to the Marxian theory are also raised by Mr. 
J. Delevsky (The Social Antagonisms and the Class Struggle in His- 
tory, Petersburg, 1910, in Russian); his chief objection is the fol- 
lowing. After quoting this passage from Engels: “It was Marx 
himself who had first discovered the complete law of motion of his- 
tory, the law according to which all historical struggles, whether pro- 
ceeding on the political, religious, philosophical, or any other ideo- 
logical ground, are in fact only the more or less distinct expression 
of the struggles between social classes” (Marx: Der Achtzehnte 
Brumatre des Louis Bonaparte, Hamburg, 1885, Engels’ preface to 
the 2d ed.), Mr. Delevsky states that he agrees with Sombart’s opinion 
that the principle of the class struggle must be replaced by the prin- 
ciple of the struggle between nations. The objection of Plekhanov, 
who said that nothing need be added here, since the class struggle 
is a conception connected with the internal processes of society and 
not with the relations between societies, is considered insufficient by 
Mr, Delevsky. “Either—or”, writes Mr. Delevsky, “either history is 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 301 


based on two principles or on one. If on two principles—that of the 
class struggle and that of the struggle between nations—what is the 
law which is formulated in the second principle? ... But if ... we 
have only the principle of the class struggle, what sense is there in 
distinguishing the struggle within society from the struggle between 
societies? .. . Or, perhaps the societies, nations, states, are likewise 
classes?” (p. 92). This statement is truly delightful. Let us look 
into the matter; two fundamental situations are possible: either we 
are dealing with a society (for instance, the world-wide economy of 
the present day) divided into the state organizations of the “national” 
sections of the bourgeoisie, or with the rather loose, different societies 
(for instance, if war is waged between different peoples, one of which 
—let us say—has suddenly intruded from very remote regions, as has 
happened repeatedly in the course of history: the conquest of Mexico 
by the Spaniards is an example). In this first case, the struggle be- 
tween the bourgeoisies is a special form of capitalist competition. 
No one but Delevsky could even imagine that the theory of the class 
struggle would exclude, for instance, capitalist competition, which 
is a form of the antagonisms within the class, which have never suc- 
ceeded in altering the bases of the given structure of production. 
While the Marxian theory recognizes the possibility of a relative 
solidarity between classes, it also recognizes the possibility of a relative 
antagonism within the classes. It is hard to see how this refutes the 
theory of the class struggle. Second case. This is a methodological 
question. The theory of the evolution of society is the theory of an 
evolution of an abstract society, and it is quite true that this theory 
does not need to concern itself with the relations between societies; - 
it analyzes the nature of society im general, ascertaining the laws of 
evolution of this “society in general”. But if we leave these questions 
in favor of more concrete questions, 7.e., among others, the question of 
the relations between the various societies, we shall again obtain spe- 
cial laws, which in their turn are also not in contradiction with the 
Marxian theory; not for the reason that the different societies are 
different classes (this assumption of Mr. Delevsky is simply wrong), 
but because “expansion” itself has economic causes, since—let us say 
—conquest inevitably is transformed into a regrouping of class forces; 
because in such cases the higher mode of production “below” always 
carries off the victory, etc. Nothing in this invalidates in any way 
the theory of the class struggle. 


We have therefore seen that the oppressed classes do not always 
wage a class struggle in the proper sense of the word, which by 
no means signifies—as we have also seen—that such comparatively 
peaceful epochs are filled with nothing but peace and harmony. 
It merely signifies that the class struggle is proceeding in a con- 
cealed or incipient form. It will later become a class struggle in 
the true sense of the word. Let us not forget that dialectics con- 
ceives everything as in course of motion, evolution. Even if the 
class struggle be absent, it is evolving, it “grows”. Such is the 
case with the oppressed classes. As for the ruling classes, they are 
waging the class struggle unceasingly. For the existence of the 


302 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


state organization proves that the ruling class has “constituted” 
itself as a class for itself, as a state power. This implies a com- 
plete consciousness of the fundamental interests of this class, which 
wages war with the classes whose interests oppose it (war against 
the immediate danger as well as against possiblé dangers), for 
which purpose it makes use of all the instruments of the state 
machinery. 


g. The Class Struggle and the State Power 


We have already considered the problem of the state as a super- 
structure determined by the economic basis (see first part of “The 
Superstructure and its Outlines,’ chapter vi, d, of this work). 
We must now approach this question from another angle, namely, 
that of the class struggle. We must again emphatically point out 
that the state organization is exclusively a class organization; it 
is the class which “has constituted its state power’’, it is the “‘con- 
centrated” and organized social authority of the class (Marx). 
The oppressed class, the bearer of the new mode of production, 
in the course of the struggle, as we have seen—becomes trans- 
formed from a class in itself into a class for itself ; in this struggle, 
it creates its fighting organizations, which to an increasing degree 
build up organizations that carry with them the entire mass of the 
given class. When revolution, civil war, etc., is at hand, these 
organizations break through the enemy’s front and constitute the 
first cells of the new state mechanism in open or concealed form. 
For example, in the French Revolution: “The ‘people’s’ or Jacobin 
groups—the former Societies of Friends of the Constitution, were 
at first bourgeois and now became democratic, Montagnards, 
Sansculottes, advocates of equality and unity. ... They were 
founded for the purpose of popular enlightenment, for propaganda 
rather than for action; but circumstances forced them into political 
action, to participate directly in the administration (when the petty 
bourgeoisie came to the helm.—WN.B.). By the Decree of 14th 
Frimaire, the Jacobins in all of France became the electors and the 
purifiers of the officialdom.”? “Taking everything into considera- 
tion . . . it was precisely the Jacobin clubs that now maintained 
unity and saved the country.”* In the English Revolution, the 
revolutionary “Army Council” provided the men for the State 

2 Aulard: Histoire politique de la révolution frangaise, Paris, 1901, pp. 
386, 387. 

8 Ibid., p. 350. 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 303 


Council. During the Russian Revolution, the fighting organiza- 
tions of the workers and soldiers—the soviets—and the extreme 
left revolutionary party—the communists—became the fundamen- 
tal organizations of the new state. 

Two types of arguments are used in objecting to the class con- 
ception of the state authority. 

The first type is of the following kind: the peculiarity of the 
state is its centralized administration; therefore, the anarchists tell 
us, any centralized administration is a state authority. Therefore, 
even the most advanced communist society, if it has a systematic 
economy, will also be a state. This reasoning is based entirely on 
the naive bourgeois error: bourgeois science, instead of perceiving 
social relations, perceives relations between things, or technical 
relations. But it is obvious that the “essence” of the state is not 
in the thing but in the social relation; not in the centralized admin- 
istration as such, but in the class envelope of the centralized ad- 
ministration. As capital is not a thing (as is, for instance, a 
machine), but a social relation between workers and employers, a 
relation expressed by means of a thing, so centralization per se by ~ 
no means necessarily signifies a state organization; it does not 
become a state organization until it expresses a class relation. 

The second objection to the class theory of the state has already 
been considered, in part. This objection is still more ridiculous, 
being based on the conception that the state discharges a number 
of generally useful functions (for example, the modern capitalist 
state builds electrical power stations, hospitals, railroads, etc.). 
This argument unites most pathetically in one group: the Social- 
Democrat Cunow, the Right Social-Revolutionary J. Delevsky, the 
conservative Delbrtick, and even the Babylonian king Hammurabi! 
But this honorable company is much mistaken. For the existence 
of generally useful functions on the part of the state does not 
alter the pure class character of the state authority. The ruling 
class is obliged to resort to all kinds of “generally useful” enter- 
prises in order to maintain its ability to exploit the masses, extend 
its field of exploitation, and secure the “normal” working of this 
exploitation. Capitalism can of course not develop properly with- 
out an extensive railroad system, without trade schools (if there 
are no skilled laborers, no scientific institutes, there will be no 
improvement in capitalist technique, etc., etc.). In all these mea- 
sures, the state power of the capitalists is guided by its class inter- 
ests, We have already given the trusts as an example; the trust 


304 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


also guides production, without which society.cannot exist, but it 
guides production in the direction of its class advantage. Or, to 
take the example of some ancient despotic state of great landlords, 
such as that of the Egyptian Pharaohs, whose huge constructions 
for regulating the course of rivers were of general utility. The 
Pharaonic state did not, however, maintain these constructions for 
the purpose of averting hardship for the starving, or subserving the 
general weal, but merely because they were a necessary condition 
for the process of production, which was simultaneously a process 
of exploitation. Class advantage was the basic impulse in this 
activity ; such measures may not be taken, therefore, as a proof of 
the incorrectness of the class point of view. 

Another group of generally useful measures is called forth by 
the oppression of the “lower classes”, for example, the labor pro- 
tection legislation in capitalist countries. Many hair-splitting 
scholars (like the Russian pseudo-sociologist, Takhtarev) there- 
fore do not consider the state as a pure class organization, for it 
is based ultimately on a compromise. A moment’s thought will 
correct this view. Does the capitalist, for instance, cease to be a 
“pure capitalist”, because his fear of strikes makes him see the 
advantage to himself of making concessions? Likewise, the class 
state may make concessions to other classes, as the employer, in 
the above example, makes concessions to the workers. But this 
does not signify that the state ceases to be a pure class state, an 
organization of a class bloc, 1.e., becoming a truly and generally 
useful organization. 2 


Naturally, Herr Cunow does not understand this either. It is a 
pleasant sight to behold the impudent Professor Hans Delbriick, whom 
we have already mentioned, poking fun at these crack-brained dis- 
torters of Marxism: “The difference between us social-politically 
thinking persons, and you, is only a difference of degree. You have 
only to take a few steps more on the path you have’ begun, gentlemen, 
and your Marxian nebule will soon be dissipated” (Hans Delbriick, 


op. cit., p. 172). 


h. Class, Party, Leaders 


A class is a group of persons connected by reason of their com- 
mon situation in production, and therefore also by their common 
situation in distribution, in other words, by common interests 
(class interests). But it would be absurd to suppose that every 
class is a thoroughly unified whole, all parts being of equal im- 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 305 


portance, with Tom, Dick, and Harry all on the same level. In 
the modern working class, for instance, there is no doubt much 
inequality in brain-power and ability. Even the “being” of the 
various parts of the working class.is unequal. This is due to the 
fact that, first, complete uniformity of the economic units is absent, 
and second, the working class does not step down full-grown from 
heaven, but is being constantly recruited from the peasantry, the 
artisan class, the urban petty bourgeoisie, 7.e., from other groups 
of capitalist society. 

A worker in a huge, splendidly equipped lant is a different 
person from the worker in a small shop, the cause of the difference 
in this case being the difference in the establishments, as well as 
between the entire resulting modes of work. Proletarian “age” 
must also be considered as an element, for a peasant who has just 
taken a job in a factory is different from a worker who has been 
in a factory since childhood. 

The difference in “being” is also reflected in consciousness. The 
proletariat is unequal in its consciousness as it is unequal in its 
position. It is more or less a unit as compared with the other - 
classes, but not with regard to its own various parts. 

The working class, therefore, as to their class consciousness, 1.€., 
their permanent, general, not their personal, not their guild or 
group interests, but as to the interests of the class as a whole, is 
divided into a number of groups and sub-groups, as a single chain 
consists of a number of links of varying strength. 

This inequality of the class is the reason for the existence of the | 
party. If the working class were perfectly and absolutely uniform, 
- it could at any moment come out in its full strength; its struggles 
might be led by persons chosen in rotation; a permanent organiza- 
tion of leadership would be superfluous and unnecessary. As a 
matter of actual fact, the struggle of the working class is inevi- 
table; this struggle must be guided; this guidance is the more 
necessary, since the opponent is powerful and cunning, and fight- 
ing him is a serious matter. We naturally expect to find the entire 
class led by that section of it that is most advanced, best schooled, 
most united: the party. 

The party is not the class; in fact, it may be but a small part of 
the class, as the head is but a small part of the body. But it would 
be absurd to attempt to find an opposition between the party and 
the class. The party is simply the thing that best expresses the 
interests of the class. We may distinguish between class and party, 


306 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


as we distinguish between the head and the entire body, but we 
cannot discuss them as opposites, just as we cannot cut off a man’s 
head, unless we wish to shorten his life. 

On what does the result of the struggle depend under these con- 
ditions? It depends on a proper relation between the various parts 
of the working class, particularly on a proper mutual relation 
between those in the party and those outside of it. On the one 
hand guidance and leadership are necessary; on the other, instruc- 
tion and conviction. No leadership is possible which does not 
instruct and convince. On the one hand, the party must be held 
together and organized separately as a part of the class, on the 
other hand, it must secure closer and closer contact with the non- 
party masses and draw a greater and greater section of these 
masses into its organization. The mental growth of the class will 
therefore find its expression in the growth of the party of this 
class, and, conversely, the decline of the class will be reflected in 
the decline of the party, or the decline of its influence on the non- 
party elements. 

We have already seen that the lack of uniformity within the 
class makes necessary the existence of the party of this class. But 
the capitalist conditions of “being” and the low cultural level not 
only of the working class, but of the other classes also, produce a 
situation in which even the vanguard of the proletariat, 1.e., its 
party, also lacks internal uniformity. The party is more or less 
uniform as compared with the other sections of the working class, 
but not within itself. The same observations may here be made 
as in the case of the class. Let us assume—as we did before— 
that the party is entirely uniform in class-consciousness, experi- 
ence, executive ability, etc., which is the complete reverse of the 
truth. Leaders would be unnecessary; the functions of the “lead- 
ers” might be performed in rotation by all the members, without 
detriment to the cause. 

But in reality no such perfect uniformity exists even in the van- 
guard, and this makes necessary the formation of more or less 
stable groups of individual “leaders”. Good leaders are leaders 
because they best express the proper tendencies of the party. And 
as it is absurd to represent party and class as opposed to each 
other, so it is absurd to represent the party as opposed to its 
leaders. To be sure, we have done this, when we opposed the 
working class to the Social-Democratic leaders, or the masses of 
organized workers to their leaders. But we did this—and still do 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 307 


it—in order to destroy the Social-Democracy, to destroy the influ- 
ence of the bourgeoisie, operating through these social-traitor 
leaders. But it would be absurd to attempt to transfer these 
methods for the destruction of a hostile organization to ourselves, 
and represent this process as an expression of our peculiar form 
of revolution. The same situation may also be found in other 
classes; when, in modern England, the bourgeoisie ruled through 
the party of Lloyd George, Lloyd See ts party was ruling 
through the persons of its leaders. 


The above will show the absurdity, among other things, of all the 
criticisms raised against the dictatorship of the Bolshevik Party in 
Russia, a dictatorship which is represented by the enemies of the revo- 
lution as opposed to the dictatorship of the working. class. It is clear 
from the above that the class must necessarily rule through its head, 
1.e., the party; it can rule in no other way. And if its head, 7.e., the 
party, is destroyed, the class itself and the class in itself, is also de- 
stroyed, being transformed from a conscious and independent social 
force into a simple factor of production and nothing more. 

Herr Heinrich Cunow regards the matter differently. “A party 
does not ask him who wishes to join it: Do you belong to a certain 
class? Not even the Social-Democratic party. He who accepts the - 
party’s principles, demands, and its platform, in all essentials, may be- 
come a member. This platform not only includes certain economic 
planks (interest demands), but also, like the platforms of other parties, - 
certain political and philosophical views lying outside the economic 
sphere of interests (concluding italics are mine, N. B.). To be sure, 
the basis of most parties is a certain class grouping; but in its structure 
each party is simultaneously an ideological formation, the representa- 
tive of a specific political thought-complex, and many persons join 
a party not because they have the same special class demands as the 
party, but because they are attracted by ... this thought-complex.” 
(Die Marx’sche Geschichts-, Gesellschafts- und Staatstheorie, Berlin, 
1921, vol. ii, p. 68.) These observations by the now head-theoretician 
of the Social-Democracy are extremely instructive. Herr Cunow gaily 
opposes the political and philosophical conceptions in the party plat- 
form to the economic demands of this platform. But how could you, 
Citizen Cunow! What has become of your Marxism? The platform 
is the highest expression of the consciousness in all the “thought-com- 
plexes”. The “political and philosophical conceptions” are not made 
of whole cloth, but grow up from the life conditions of these classes. 
They are not only not opposed to these life conditions, but, on the con- 
trary, are their expression, and insofar as we are discussing the de- 
mands of the platform, it is obvious that the philosophical and political 
portion of this platform serves as the envelope for its economic portion. 

We may observe this fact even in Herr Cunow’s party, the German 
Social-Democracy. Absorbing more and more non-workers, receding 
further and further from the working class, by supporting chiefly the 
aristocracy of skilled labor in that class, the German Social-Democracy 
has also changed the mental-political thought-complex of its “plat- 
form”, which has become much more moderate in its demands; in its 
ideology, it therefore favors the well-groomed—pardon the word— 


308 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


castrated “Marxism” of Herr Cunow, chooses Herr Bernstein (an 
old betrayer of Marxism) as interpreter of its program, and makes 
-Werr Vorlander (an idealist Kantian) its official philosopher. 


i. The Classes as an Instrument of Social Transformation 


If we consider society as a certain system developing objectively, 
we find that transitions from one class system (from one “social 
formation of classes”) to another is accomplished through a bitter 
class struggle. In this objective process of social changes the 
classes constitute the basic apparatus of transmission for reshaping 
the entire body of the living conditions of society. The structure 
of society changes through men and not outside of men; the pro- 
duction relations are as much a product of human struggle and of 
human activity as are flax or linen (Marx). But if we seek among 
the countless individual wills running in all directions, but ulti- 
mately yielding a certain social resultant, to find the basic tendency, 
we shall obtain certain uniform “bundles of wills”: “the class 
wills”. These are most sharply differentiated in revolution, 1.e., 
in an upheaval of society during a transition from one class form 
to another. . 

But hidden behind the law of cause and effect in the evolution 
of the class will and the various permutations and combinations 
in the clash of the opposed class wills—differing from each other— 
is the profounder causality of the objective evolution, a causality 
that determines the phenomena of the will at every stage in evolu- 
tion. | 

Furthermore, the phenomena of the will are limited by external 
conditions, 7.e., each alteration in these conditions, proceeding under 
the reverse influence of the human will, is limited by the preceding 
stage in these conditions. Thus, the class struggle and the class 
will constitute an active transmission apparatus in the transition 
from one social structure to another. 

The new class, in this process, serves as the organizer and bearer 
of the new social and economic order. A class which is not the 
bearer of a new mode of production cannot “transform”’ society. 
On the contrary, the class power which embodies the growing and 
ever advancing conditions of production, is also the fundamental 
living lever of social transformation. Thus, the bourgeoisie, when 
it was the bearer of new conditions of production and a new eco- 
nomic structure, shunted society from its old feudal track to that 
of bourgeois evolution; similarly, the proletariat, the bearer and 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 309 


organizer of the socialistic class production in its original class 
formulation will shift society—no longer capable of living on the 
old basis—from the bourgeois track to that of socialism. 


j. The Classless Society of the Future 


Here we encounter a question that has been but little discussed 
in Marxian literature. We have seen that the class rules through 
the party, the party through its leaders; each class and each party 
therefore having its staff of officers. This staff is technically 
necessary, for we have seen that it is the result of the lack of 
uniformity within the class and the inequality of the party mem- 
bers. Each class therefore has its organizers. Viewing the evo- 
lution of society from this point of view, we may reasonably ask 
the following question: Is—in general—the communist classless 
society, of which Marxists speak, a possibility? 

It is. We know that the classes themselves have risen organ- 
ically as Engels described, from the division of labor, from the 
organizational functions that had become technically necessary for 
the further evolution of society. Obviously, in the society of the 
future, such organizational work will also be necessary. One 
might object that the society of the future will not involve private 
property, or the formation of such private property, and it is pre- 
cisely this private property that constitutes this basis of the class. 

But this argument need not remain unanswered. Professor 
Robert Michels, in his very interesting book, Zur Soztologie des 
Parteiwesens in der modernen Demokratie (Leipzig 1910, p. 370), 
says: “Doubts again arise on this point, however, whose consistent 
application would lead to an outright denial of the possibility of a 
classless state (the author should not have said ‘state’ but ‘society’. 
—N.B.), Their administration of boundless capital (7.e., means 
of production——N.B.) assigns at least as much power to the admin- 
istrators as would possession of their own private property.” 
Viewed from this point of view, the entire evolution of society 
seems to be nothing more than a substitution of one group of 
leaders for another. Accordingly, Vilfredo Pareto speaks of a 
“theory of the circulation of élites’ (théorte de la circulation des 
élites). If this view is a correct one, Michels must also be correct 
in his conclusion, i.e., socialists may be victorious, but not socialism. 
An cxample will show Michels’ error. When the bourgeoisie is in 
power, it is by reason of the power—as we know—not of all the 


310 HISTORICAL MATERIALISM 


members of the class, but of its leaders. Yet it is evident that this 
condition does not result in a class stratification within the bour- 
geoisie. The landlords in Russia ruled their high officials, con- 
stituting an entire staff, an entire stratum, but this stratum did 
not set itself up as a class against the other landlords. The reason 
was that these other landlords did not have a lower standard of 
living than that of the former; furthermore, their cultural level 
was about the same, on the whole, and the rulers were constantly 
recruited from this class. 

Engels was therefore right when he said that the classes up to 
a certain moment are an outgrowth of the insufficient evolution 
of the productive forces; administration is necessary, but there is 
not sufficient bread for all, so to speak. Parallel with the growth 
of the socially necessary organizational functions, we therefore 
have also a growth of private property. But communist society 
is a society with highly developed, increased productive forces. 
Consequently, it can have no economic basis for the creation of its 
peculiar ruling class. For—even assuming the power of the ad- 
ministrators to be stable, as does Michels—this power will be the 
power of specialists over machines, not over men. How could 
they, in fact, realize this power with regard to men? Michels 
neglects the fundamental decisive fact that each administratively 
dominant position has hitherto been an envelope for economic ex- 
ploitation. This economic exploitation may not be subdivided. 
But there will not even exist a stable, close corporation, domi- 
nating the machines, for the fundamental basis for the formation 
of monopoly groups will disappear; what constitutes an eternal 
category in Michels’ presentation, namely, the “incompetence of 
the masses” will disappear, for this incompetence is by no means 
a necessary attribute of every system; it likewise is a product of 
the economic and technical conditions, expressing themselves in the 
general cultural being and in the educational conditions. We may 
state that in the society of the future there will be a colossal over- 
production of organizers, which will nullify the stability of the 
ruling groups. 

But the question of the transition period from capitalism to 
socialism, 1.e., the period of the proletarian dictatorship, is far 
more difficult. The working class achieves victory, although it is 
not and cannot be a unified mass. It attains victory while the 
productive forces are going down and the great masses are mate- 
rially insecure. There will inevitably result a tendency to “de- 


CLASSES AND CLASS STRUGGLE 311 


generation”, t.¢., the excretion of a leading stratum in the form of 
a class-germ. This tendency will be retarded by two opposing 
tendencies; first, by the growth of the productive forces; second, 
by the abolition of the educational monopoly. The increasing 
reproduction of technologists and of organizers in general, out of 
the working class itself, will undermine this possible new class 
alignment. The outcome of the struggle will depend on which 
tendencies turn out to be the stronger. 

The working class, having in its possession so fine an instrument 
as the Marxian theory, must be mindful of this fact: by its hands 
an order of society will be put through and ultimately established, 
differing in principle from all the preceding formations; namely, 
from the primitive communist horde by the fact that it will be a 
society of highly cultivated persons, conscious of themselves and 
others; and from the class forms of society by the fact that for 
the first time the conditions for a human existence will be realized, 
not only for individual groups, but for the entire aggregate of 
humanity, a mass which will have ceased to be a mass, and will 
become a single, harmoniously constructed human society. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


An exhaustive study of the classes will be found in Professor 
Solntsev’s book, The Social Classes (in Russian) ; Marx and Engels: 
The Communist Manifesto; Karl Marx: The Poverty of Philosophy; 
Karl Marx: Capital; Karl Marx: historical writings; Friedrich En- 
gels: The Conditions of the Working Class in England; Friedrich 
Engels: Feuerbach (English translation, Chicago, 1906); Friedrich 
Engels: Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State; Karl 
Kautsky: Die Agrarfrage; Karl Kautsky: Widerspriiche der Klassen- 
interessen wihrend der grossen franzosischen Revolution; N. Rosh- 
kov: Karl Mars and the Class Struggle, in the Collection, To the Mem- 
ory of Marx (in Russian); A. Bogdanov: Empiriomonism (in Rus- 
sian), vol. iii; Victor Chernov (Social-Revolutionist): The Peasant 
and the Worker as Economic Categories (in Russian); J. Delevsky 
(Social-Revolutionist) : Social Antagonisms and the Class Struggle 
(in Russian); H. Cunow: Die Marzsche Geschichts-, Gesellschafts- 
und Staatstheorie. 





INDEX 


Accidentalism in History, 43, 45-48 

Accommcedation, in Biology, 73 

Accumulation of culture, 269-273 

Achelis, Ernst Christian, 173 

Adaptation, see Accommodation 

Adler, Max, 32, 149 

Africa, 19, 50, 128 

Agafonov, V., 117, 118 

Aggregates, 87, 88 

Agriculture, 139, 152, 167, 187 

Ahmes, Calculation Book of, 167 

Alcoholism, 55 

~Anabaptists, 178 

Anaxagoras, 184 

Anaximander, 182 

Ancestor worship, 157 

Animism, 170 

Antagonisms, see Contradictions 

Anthropology, 159 

Antithesis (Hegel), 74 

Archimedes, 164 

Architecture, 168, 189, 192, 108 

OE ne 29, AGyQ0, 136): 140,..170; 
18 


Arithmetic, 162, 163, 167-169 

Armour, Margaret, 71 

Army organization, 98, 99, 152, 154, 
22 

aber 189, 190, 193, 196-203 

Ashurbanipal, 272 

Asia, 128, 178 

Assyro-Babylonian Civilization, 
196 

eae T32/ e102 1050107; 
186 

Atheism, see Gorter, Hermann 

Athens, 171, .184, 190, 199 

Aulard, Francois Victor Alphonse, 
302 

Australia, 19, 125, 128 

Austria, 46, 258 

Axelrod, L. (Orthodox), 83 

Aztecs of Mexico, 25, 197, 198, 199, 
301 


127, 


168, 


Babylonia, 127, 167, 173, 174 
Babylonian confusion, 61, 87 


313 


foes Lord Francis, of Verulam, 

I 

Baroque art, 200 

Baudeau, Nicolas, 111 

Bauer, Otto, 261 

Bazarov, V., 52 

Beaumarchais, 
Caron de, 201 

Bees, society of, 91, 92, III 

Beltov, see Plekhanov 

Bentham, Jeremy, 212 


Pierre Augustin, 


Bergson, Henri, 46 


Berkeley, Bishop George, 57, 58 

Berman, J., 83 

Bernstein, A., 37, 308 

Bernstein, Eduard, 251 

Bible, the, 163 

Biology, xv, 73, 76, 113 

Bitsilli, P., 268 

Boccaccio, Giovanni, 200 

Bogdanov, A., 32, 83, 171, 241, 311 

Bohm-Bawerk, Eugen von, 24 

Boiling point, 81 

Bolsheviks, in Russia, 66, 67, 248 

Bordeaux, A., 164 

Bossuet, Jacques Bénigne, 59 

Botany, 162, 165 

Bourgeoisie, x, xi, 30, 67, 124, 132, 
149, 211, 186, 200, 201 

Boutroux, Etienne Emile, 46 

Bowring, Edgar Alfred, 122 

Brahmans, 174, 175 

Brandes, George, 201 

Brockhaus’ Russian Encyclopedia, 37 

Brontosauri, 64 

Bucher, Karl, 192, 193, 196, 272 

Bukharin, N., 83, 103, 129, 255, 260 

Bulgakov, ‘Sergey, 49, 50 

Burger, Fritz, 194, 198 


Caesar, Julius, 141, 168 

Calvin, John, 51 

Cantor, M., 162, 167-169 

Capital, -by Karl Marx, 27, 48, 60, 
72, 75, 90, 93, 108, 116, 121, 123, 
212, 231, 234, 236, 237, 246, 261 

Capitalism, 48, 71, 87, 141, 144, 163, 
234 


314 


Capitalist system, xi, 19, 20 

Caste, 160, 276-290 

Catherine II, Empress of Russia, 
153 

Causality, 19-33, 172, 207 

Causation, see Causality 

Cause and effect, 19-33, 47 

Cavalieri, Bonaventura, 164 

Chance, see Accidentalism in History 

Chemistry, 135, 142 

Cherbourg, French seaport, 105 

Chernov, Victor, 163, 164, 311 

Ching iy X11) 23 bag les, leo, P2850, 
160, 163, 168, 187, 198, 272 

Christ, see Jesus Christ 

Christiania, see Oslo 

* Christianity, Foundations of, by 
Karl Kautsky, 171, 213, 241 

Chuprov, A., 163, 164 

eae the, 160, 166, 17I, 175, 177, 
107 

Church Music, 190, 191, 200 

Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 46 

Civilization, 68, 100, 128, 
see also Culture 

Class, for itself (fiir sich), 292-297 

Class, in itself (an sich), 292-207 

Class ideology, 153, 208, 215, 216 

Class psychology, 153, 213-216, 287- 
292 

Class religion, 177 

Class society, 88, 276-287 

Class struggle, 87, 288-289, 297-311 

Class types, 287-292 

Classes, 1x-xii, 143, I5I, 152, 276-311, 
285, 288, 289; subsidiary classes, 
283 

Classless society, 147, 309-3II 

Claudius Galenus, see Galenus, 
Claudius 

Climate, 105, 106 

Cognito, ergo sum, 53 

Colonial policy, 128, 162, 256, 204 

Communism, 131, 249 

Communist society, 29, 30, 40-42, 51, 
69, 71, 146, 252 

Comte, Auguste, 87, 132, 240 

Conception, in Psychology, 57, 58 

Confucius, 160 

Consumption, II0, II9 

Constantinople, 72, 107 

Contradictions in history, 73, 74, 78, 
156, 157, 274 | 

Conventions, social, 157 

Cretan civilization, 25 

Crises, industrial, 265, 268 

Credo quia absurdum, 24 

Cromwell, Oliver, 285 

Culture, see Accumulation of culture 

Cuneiform inscriptions, 271 

Cunow, Heinrich, 51, 103, I10, 120, 


120, 196, 


INDEX 


I21,/( 129, <103, |17Ts173, 212, Weal! 
249, 250, 255, 257, 258, 262-264, 
295, 303, 304 

Cuvier, Georges Chrétien, 81 


Dadaism, 201 

Dante Alighieri, 200 

Darwin, Charles, 62, 65 

Daubler, Theodore, 202 

David, Jacques Louis, 201 

Deborin, A., 83 

Declassed groups, see Classes, sub- 
sidiary classes 

Delbriick, Hans, 300, 303, 341 

Demeter, Greek goddess, 175 

Democritus, 58, 65 

Descartes, René, 53 

Dessoir, Max, 202 

Determinism, 33-52, 55 

D’Ett, British sociologist, 277 

DeVries, Hugo, see Vries, de, Hugo 

Dialectic method, 65, 75 

Dialectics, 65, 75 

Diels, Hermann, 166, 272 

Diodorus, 167 

Dipsomania, 37 

Loac Rae of products, 144, 145, 
265 

Division of labor, see Labor 

Division of products, see Distribu- 
tion of products 

Dogs, life of, 55, 72 

Dihring, Eugen, 284 

Durkheim, E., 92, 93, 217 


Edison, Thomas Alva, 99 

Efficiency, 140 

Egypt, Ancient, 106, 127, 152, 162, 
163, 165, 167, 182, 197, 220, 300 

Ehrmann, Egyptologist, 300 

Eisler, Rudolf, 163, 197 

Eleatic philosophers, 65 

Electricity, 117, 122, I3I, 
251 

Electron theory, 75 

Elites, theory of the circulation of, 


139, 223, 


309 

Engels, Friedrich, passim 

England, 46, 151, 162, 186, 251, 268, 
299, 300 

Ephesus, 182 

Epicurus, 58 

Equilibrium, 132, 134, 142 


Equilibrium, internal (structural), 
74, 78, 79 

Equilibrium, stable, 74, 75 

Equilibrium, unstable, 74, 75, 77, 
IIQ, 120 

Ernst, Paul, 187 


“Ethics, 44, 238, 239 
rite 162 


INDEX 


Ethnology, 162 

Etiquette, 95, 157, 160 

Evolution, 64, 65, 82, 83, 123, 243 
Expressionism, 201 


Factories, 91, 137, 138, I4I, 142, 
146, 148, 152, 189 

Family, origin and future of, 155, 
156 


Fashions, 61, 95, 160, 161, 203 

Fatalism, 121 

Fate, 51 

Fermat, Pierre de, 164 

Fetishism, 237 235 

Feudalism, O7,:1008, 174," 157, | 100, 
BIOe cPl Ae e2l; 222,231 230, 200; 
281 

~Feuerbach, Ludwig, 32, 51, 58, 103 

Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 57, 59 

Florence, banking in, 152 

Ford, Henry, 141 

Forestry, 65, 85, 104 

France, 68, 125, 128, 186 

Franco-Prussian War, xiii 

Franklin, Benjamin, 117 

Franz Ferdinand, Archduke, 46 

Fraser, John, 172 

Free will, 33-52, 132, 189 

French Revolution, 48, 58, 82, 96, 
153, 190, 201, 248, 258, 267, 279 

Fritsche, V. M., 241 

Frontinus, Sextus Julius, 168 

Futurism, 131 


Galenus, Claudius, 162 


Ganymede, Greek youth, 179 
Gastev, A., 142 

Geography, 122, 162 

Geology, 81 

Geometry, 132, 162, 163, 168, 160, 


225 

Germany, xiii, 28, 71, 106, 126, 128, 
129, 132, 135, 153, 201, 212, 267, 
290, 291, 307, 308 

Glotz, Gustave, 137, 138 

God, 23, 58, 59, 62, 64, 65, 71, 100, 
169, 170, 176, 180 

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 122, 
228, 220 

Gold, in ancient times, 132, 162 

Gorgias, 57 

Gorter, Hermann, 180 

Gotha Program, Marx’s Critique of 
the, 180 

Gothic architecture, 197 

Gottl-Ottlilienfeld, Friedrich von, 117 

Gramme Ring, the, 164 

Granat’s Russian Encyclopedia, 37 

Greek civilization, 25, 57, 58, 68, 69, 
127, 132, 166, 175, 179, 182, 184, 
197, 198, 220, 268 

Grosse, Ernst, 125 


315 
Haendcke, B., 199 
Halban, H. von, 74 
Hammacher, Emil, 232 
Hammurabi, King, 17357 77 at OO} 
233, 303 


Hausenstein, Wilhelm, 194, 197-199, 
200 


~~ Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 57, 


59, 62, 65, 73, 74, 75, 79, 80, 224 
Heine, Heinrich, 71 
Helios, Greek god, 175 
Helmolt, Hy). 100 
Helvetius, 58 
Heraclitus, 58, 67, 72, 73, 183, 184 
Heredity, 37 
Herkner, H., 109, 110 
Hermes, Greek god, 175 
Hero, of Alexandria, 168 
Herodotus, 118, 159 
Hettner, A., 106 
Hiao, 159, 160 
Hierarchy, 207, 231 
Hippocrates, 162 
Historical necessity, 46-48 
Historical School, Heine on, 71 
History, 49, 78, 99, 100, 102, 162 
Hobbes, Thomas, 58 
Holbach, Paul Heinrich Dietrich, 


Baron de, 58 
Holland, 162 
Homer, 183, 190, 233 
Horace, Roman poet, 168 
Huber, 232 


Hung ‘fan, “great plan’, 160 
Hurwicz, E., 212 


Hylozoists, Greek philosophers, 58 


Ichthyosauri, 64 

Idealism, 53-58, 187 

Ideology, 208, 209, 223, 225, 240, 242, 
256, 270, 201 

Tguanodons, 64 

Iliad, 199, 233 


»Immanent teleology, 22 et seq., 25 


Imperialism, 75 

Impressionism, 201 

Incas of Peru, 25, 67, 108 

Indeterminism, 33-52 

India, 127, 163, 167-169, 174, 187, 188, 
196, 198, 

Intelligentsia, ix 

Tonic cities, 182 

Iranian religion, ancient, 159 

Italy, 106, 152, 154, 211 

I. W. W.. in the United States, 299 


Japan, 19, 50, 117, 129, 198, 199 
Jesus Christ, 127, 200 

Jevons, William Stanley, 125 
Jews, their race, 127 

Julius Caesar, see Caesar 


316 INDEX 
Jurisprudence, xiii, 61, 72, 162, 214, Maslov, P., 120, 251 
215, 224 w« Materialism, 53, 58, 63, 90, 149, 186 


_ Materialism, dialectic, 53-83 


Justinian, Roman emperor, 23 at iali lalect 
Materialism, historical, xiv, xv, 63, 


Labor, division of, 92, 109, 110, 176, “* 186 ' 

137, 138, 217-224, 284, 285 Materialism, historical, “practical,” 
Labriola, A., 51 58 
»Lamettrie, Julien Offray de, 58 Mathematics, 110, 162, 163, 167-160, 
Lamprecht, Karl, 232 224 
Lang, F. A., 62, 63 ,_Matter, 53-58, 181 
Latifundia, in ancient Rome, 138, McFarlane, John, 122 


143, 298 

Law, see Jurisprudence 

League of Nations, 132 

Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Baron 
von, 35, 46, 81, 82, 164, 272 

LeMercier de la Riviére, 125 

«Lenin, Nikolai, 32, 52, 58, 132, 241, 
251, 258 

Leonardo da Vinci, 200 

Leprosy, 63 

Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 59 

Levy-Brihl, 206, 207 

Levy, Hermann, 216 

L’Houet, Pastor A., 290, 291 

Libraries, 133, 271, 272 

Lilienfeld, 88 

Linnaeus (Carl von Linné), 65 

Lippert, Julius, 197 

Lloyd George, David, 72, 132, 307 

Loria, Achille, 92 


Mechnikov, L., 107, III, I2I, 122, 
128, 129 

Medicine, 162 

Meerwarth, Rudolph, 140 

Mehring, Franz, 225, 226 

Melgunov, G., 214 

Menenius, Agrippa, 87 

Mensheviks, 65 

Merezhkovsky, Dmitri, 35, 300 

Meteorology, 48, 49, 133 

Mexico, 107 . 

Meyer, Eduard, 68, 71, 128, 158, 172, 
176, 182, 184 

Michels, Robert, 128, 309-311 

Milkau, Fritz, 272 

Mill, James, 283 

Mill, John Stuart, 44 

Miller, Ernst, 125 

Milyukov, Paul, 97, 98 

Mimicry, III 


Louis Bonaparte, Emperor, 293-300 “Mind, 53-58, 92 


Louis XIV, king of France, 132 
Louis, Paul, 137 

Luchitsky, 251 

Lucilius, 185 

Lucretius Carus, 58 

Ludendorff, German General, 191 
Lumpenproletariat, 69, 185, 288-290 
Lunacharsky, A. V., 193, 241 
Luther, Martin, 178 

Luxemburg, Rosa, 129 

Lyell, Sir Charles, 81 


Mach, Ernst, 162, 166, 225 

»Machinery (mechanism), 93, 112, 
118, 132, 134, 135, 139, 140, 146 

Malthus, Robert, 125 

Marbe, Karl, 231, 232 

Market, transactions on the, 35, 36 

* Marriage, 85, 86, 155, 156 

Martersteig, Max, 202 

Marten, Lu, 191 

i Marx, Karl, X, XV, 27, 48, 49, 56, 58, 

61, 62, 63, 65, 68, 60, 70, 75, 83, 

90, OI, 92, 94, 96, 103, 104, 105, 

107, 108, 112, 116, 118, 123, 144, 

145, 146, 148, 149, 158, 173, 180, 

186, 203, 207, 211, 216, 220, 232, 

234, 235, 243, 246, 249, 250, 257, 

et passim 


we Mind (and matter), 181 


Mineralogy, see Geology 
Modes, see Fashions 

Moira, Greek divinities, 51, 179 
Mombert, P., 125 

Money, the “Leveller”, 237 
Monism, 52, 58 

Monogamy, 68 

Morals, 239 

Muckle, Fr., 201 

Music, 189-196 

Mutation theory (De Vries), 81 
Mysticism, 88, 187 


Napoleon I, 98 

Nationalism, see Colonial 
World War, Race theories 

Natural Philosophy, 166 

Natural Sciences, see Natural philos- 
ophy 

Nature, influence of, see Equilibrium 

Necessity, historical see Historical 
necessity 

Necessity, natural law of (causal), 
33-5 ys 

Neo-impressionism, 201 

Neuburger, Albert, 136 

Neue Zeit, Die, 110, 120, 146 

New Economic Policy, in Russia, 261 


Policy, 


INDEX 


Newspapers, 68, 131 

Newton, Sir Isaac, 164 

New York, 106, 245 

New York Tribune, 257 
Nibelungenlied, 159 

Nicholas II, Emperor of Russia, 230 
Nikolsky, N., 176 

Nile, river, 118, 128, 167, 197, 198 
Noiré, Ludwig, 204 

Nomadic tribes, 67 

Norway, 106 

Noske, Gustav, 261 
Novgorodtsev, P. J., 258 


Obolensky, L., 193 

Odenbreit, Bernhard, 235 

Odyssey, 199, 233 

Oppenheimer, Franz, 285 

oa school, xv, 92, 149, 166, 
107 

Orthodox, L., 83 

Oslo, Norway, 107 


Painting, art of, 196, 270, 271 
Parcae, Roman divinities, 51, 199 
Pareto, Vilfredo, 309 
Parmenides, 65, 184 
Paulsen, Friedrich, 218, 222, 223 
Peasantry, their social function, 67, 
156, 290, 291 
Pericles, 184 
Peru, see Incas 
Petrarch, Francesco, 200 
Petrushevsky, D., 251, 252 
Petty, William, 163 
_—Philosophy, 53, 61, 95, 161, 169, 181, 
182, 184, 187, 188, 190, 227, 240 
»Philosophy of history, see Sociology 
Physiocrats, 125 
Pietschmann, Robert, 272 
Plato, 57; 67, 185 
Plenge, 235 
== Plekhanov, G. V., 32, 51, 52, 58, 82, 
83, 103, 122, 126, 227, 241, 242, 250, 
300 
Pogodin A., 206 
Pokrovsky, M. N., 99, 126, 152, 153, 
156, 172, 176, 241 
Political economy, x, 163, 181, 240 
Population, law of, 123, 124-126 
Portugal, 162, 268 
Polyandry, 68 
Practice and theory, see Theory and 
Practice ‘ 
Probability, see Accidentalism in his- 
tory 
Production, 110, 117, 119, 124, 144, 
148, 182, 283, 285 
. Productive forces, 111-118, 120-120, 
133, 244-255 
Progress, conception of, 25, 26 
Progressive paralysis, 37 


317 


Proletariat, passim 

Proletkult, 33 

Prostitution, 62, 156 

Protagoras, 157 

«Protestantism, 160, 216 

Psychology, 100, 181, 182, 208, 209, 
213, 240, 201 

Pterodactyls, 64 

Pugachov, 153, 154 

Purpose, in nature, 19-33 


Quality, see Quantity changes to 
quality 

Quantity changes to quality, 81, 82 

Quesnay, Francois, 23 

Quintus Horatius Flaccus, see 
Horace 


Race theories, 126-129, 210, 211 

Railroads, 67, 105, 109, 128, 132, 299 

Red Army, Russian, 98 

Religion, 61, 68, 95, 160, 176 

Reproduction, see Production 

Renner, Karl, 258, 259, 261 

Ricardo, David, x 

Riviére, see Le Mercier de la Ri- 
viere 

Rockefeller, John D., 131 

Rococo art, 200, 201, 203 

Rodbertus, Karl Johann, 2o1 

Romains, Jules, 202 . 

Roman civilization, 25, 68, 69, 140, 
168, 179, 185, 268, 272 

Rosenbach, P., 37 

Roshkov, N., 311 

Rothschild family, financiers, 72 

Ruskin, John, 197 

Russia, xiii, 49, 66, 106, 129, 142, 153, 
176, 177, 205, 206, 212-214, 310 

Russian Revolution, 64, 67, 82, 218, 
248, 258, 265 


Saint Simon, Claude Henri, Count, 


i 

Saint Sophia, 50 

Salvioli, Giuseppe, 137, 138, 241 

Schaffle, Artur, 92 

Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph, 
von, 57, 59 

Schering, Arnold, 202 

Schmoller, Gustav, 284, 285 

Scholasticism, 166 

Sciences, social, see Social sciences 

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 56-58 

Sculpture, art of, 199 

Scheidemann, Philip, 261 

Second International, 256 

Seneca, 185 

Sieber, A., 70 

Silvansky, N. P., 235 

Simmel, George, 94, 203, 209, 210, 
231, 201 


318 INDEX 


Slave system, 67, 69, 137, 138, 166, Third International, 131 


185, 273, 296 Thomas Aquinas, 186, 216 
Slavic races, 64, 128, 176 Tolstoy, Alexei, 153 
Smith, Adam, 172 Tolstoy, Leo, 81, 189 
Soap, use of, 68 Topinard, Paul, 128 
Social Democrats, 51, 161, 180, 249, Torrens, Sir Robert Richard, 72 
254, 307, 308 Transition to communism, 60, 71 
Socialism, 51, et passim Tribune, see New York Tribune 
Social sciences, ix, 163, et passim Tuberculosis, 37 
Social Revolutionaries, in Russia, 66, Tugan-Baranovsky, 83, 295 
161, 288 btirayev, 1B., 1973,0174,0177, 100 
Society, human, 25, 47, 59, 77, 85-88, 
89, II0, 121, 123, 133, 163, 311 Ukraine, serfdom in, 153 
~, Sociology, xili, xiv, 88, 166, 167, ~ United States of America, 153, 190, 
173, 233 220.0207, 02 
Socrates, 185 Unorganized society, 37-40 
Solar system, 22, 34, 73, 149 Utopian socialism, 63 
Solidarity of uaa ta ei tito Z 
Solipsism, a phase of idealism, 5 Vaicias (India), 173, 1 
Solntsev, S. I., 279, 283, 311 Vanieeide ateees : 
Solovyov, V. S., 100 Varuna, 175 


Sombart, Werner, 83, 149, 160, 216, Vassilyev, N., 185, 268 

233, 258, 291, 300 Vedas (ancient hymns), 175, 194 
See eae Versailles, Peace of, 201 
Soviet Republic, Russian, 28, 67, 68 Mas ee eee ae. da ‘Vinci 
Spain, 163, 268, 301 Vitruvius, 118, 137, 140 
Spektorsky, E., 23 Volga, Russian river, 65 


Spencer, Herbert, 87 D° 
Spengler, Oswald, 132, 188, 211 eed 39; 41, 57, 58, see also Free 


Spinoza, Baruch, 35, 44, 58 Vorlander, Daniel, 308 


Stammler, Rudolf, 27-30, 32 . bat 
Stenka Razin, 154 Vries, de, Hugo, see Mutation theory 


Stepanov, I., 241 

Stoic philosophers, 58, 185 
Strabo, anciént geographer, 159 
Struggle for existence, 62, 63 


Waentig, H., 250 
Wat Tyler’s Rebellion, 251 
Watteau, Antoine, 201 


Weber, Alfred, 122, 150 
Struve, P. V., 83, 250 ; , ) 
Superstructure, 150, 185, 186, 292, et © maieetn leer 152, 159, 160, 175, 178, 
EG W eltanschauun 
i ‘ g; 52 
Sent Seas ‘ Will, freedom of the, see Free will 
Baden tb William II, Emperor of Germany, 
: 218 
; . : Wipper, R. J., 51, 102, 166, 167, 177 
PO Sn penne ie es Wolff, Christian, ‘46 
Takhtarev, 304 Working-class, see Proletariat 
Tammany Hall, 153 World War (1914-1918), 129, 187, 
Taylor system, 140, 163 252, 255, 204, 205 
Tchernov, see Chernov Worms, René, 87 
Tchuprov, see Chuprov Wundt, Wilhelm, 95, 206 


Technology, 120, I2I, 124, 13I, 134, 
135, 138, 141, 142, 154, 165, 169, Yahveh, 175 
181, 182, 190 Yorkshire hogs, 64 
~Teleology, 21, 22, 25 
Thales, Greek philosopher, 58, 182 Zeitgeist, 210, 211 
_ Theology, 23, 25, 166, 186, see also Zeno, 65 


Religion Zetterbaum, Max, 149 
Theory and practice, relation be- Zeus, 175, 179 
tween, xi, 164, 165 Ziegler, Theobald, 221, 222 


Thesis (Hegel), 74 Zoology, 162, 165, 271 


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